


The Death Of Jim Moriarty

by KitanaRiddle



Series: The death of Jim Moriarty. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Holding Hands, Jim Breaks Mycroft's Heart, M/M, Oral Sex, angst first, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 26,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitanaRiddle/pseuds/KitanaRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Jim seduced Mycroft, accidentally fell in love with him, purposefully killed himself and then came back from the dead.</p><p>Unbetaed and based off of 30 day otp challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding Hands

Despite Sherlock’s teasing, Mycroft was not one to give into every silly craving his body demanded. Being the smart man that he was, Mycroft knew that a few treats on occasion would help him to resist the urge to binge on the constant biscuits and cakes present at his countless meetings. Mycroft’s favourite indulgence was the Spanish donuts, _Churros_ , which a small stand in a nameless park served. He would order one and savour the fried dough powdered with sugars as he sat on a bench and observed the people walking past. However, with his younger brother engaging criminal masterminds and The Woman of all people, Mycroft found himself needing that particular comfort food more than his bi-annual luxury of the past. And so every Thursday afternoon that wasn’t filled with conference calls and last minute trips, Mycroft found himself walking to that familiar stand and ordering his treat. 

This Thursday Mycroft was eating especially slowly, as he had been out of country the previous Thursday. As he watched a young couple holding hands (female was uncomfortable as her boyfriend animatedly tried to persuade her of something, a threesome Mycroft deducted), someone sat silently beside him. Mycroft chose not to look over in case his action encouraged the person to try and start a conversation, god forbid. Swallowing the last bite, Mycroft drew his fingers to his mouth about to lick the last remains of his sugary relief away. Before he could, a hand grabbed his wrist before Mycroft turned and came face to face with one Jim Moriarty. 

“I missed you last week,” the man smirked, “but I suppose I shouldn't have organized the assassination if I didn't want you to go running to fix it.”

Mycroft gave a sharp tug of his arm, which did not cause Jim to release his wrist, before politely answering, “One would think you’d foresee my actions since I spent much of the last year trying to keep him alive.”

Jim pulled Mycroft’s hand towards his mouth before licking at the thumb. Mycroft, determined not to give the satisfaction of a reaction, sat stone still as Jim sucked the sugar from each of his fingers. Once Jim pulled the pinky finger out of his mouth with an obscene POP he twisted his fingers from Mycroft’s wrist to intertwine with the other man’s hand.

“If you wanted I could give you a little hint as to Daaaaaddy’s next naughty plan?”  


Unable to stop himself, Mycroft’s eyes flickered to where Jim was holding his hand and rubbing his thumb slowly over Mycroft’s own thumb.

“Seeing as I missed my treat last week and you finished it off this week, it would only be a fair trade if you were to do so.”

A look of glee flashed on Jim’s face before he leaned in so his lips brushed Mycroft’s own when he spoke, “Daddy’s going to introduce krokodil to America through a certain over the counter drug. Buuuuuut if you agree to walk in this lovely park with me for the next hour I’ll let you know which oooooone.”

Mycroft’s only response was to raise an eyebrow and stand up slowly, “Lead the way Mr. Moriarty”  


Jim practically jumped to his feet before running his hand down Mycroft’s arm and once more intertwining their fingers.

 


	2. Cuddling

He knows he has a problem. Well to be honest he has two problems, both of which bore the surname of Holmes. That tricky little Sherlock isn’t truly a problem since Jim has a plan set in motion to destroy the man’s heart; however, the elder Holmes is proving to do a number on Jim’s heart. Only an idiot would let themselves fall victim to sentiment, and Jim Moriarty is no idiot. So he convinces himself that the Ice Man intrigues him and that was why some nights Jim tosses and turns thinking of the older man. Both Sherlock and Mycroft were raised the same yet only Mycroft had this untouchable quality to him. Even when Jim had slid up to him in the park and all but molested the man’s fingers, Mycroft was as polite as ever. The hour long walk with Jim suggesting all types of lewd activities was unsuccessful at receiving more than a tight lipped smile and a single raised eyebrow from the man. Jim doesn’t lie to himself about his attraction to competency. And honey, Mycroft is one competent son of a gun.

Jim is down with that, imagining Mycroft losing his composure while lying under Jim’s ministrations was a very pleasing fantasy. Unfortunately the thoughts that follow are driving Jim mad. He keeps imaging Mycroft dozing off right away (he was after all known to be a brilliant but lazy man) and curling towards Jim’s soft touch in a moment of vulnerability. Jim imagines running his finger along the other man’s sharp nose and soft lips; he imagines Mycroft might even let out a soft sigh at that. The image of Mycroft’s warm body pressed against Jim’s chest is burned into Jim’s mind. Those thoughts are the ones that Jim has a problem with.

But being a man who jumps headfirst into any challenge thrown his way, Jim’s decided to deal with his Mycroft problem the same way. So in the dead of the night, Jim uses every resource available to him to infiltrate the elder Holmes’ tenth floor flat. As he slinks past the deactivated security cameras in Mycroft’s living room, Jim realizes his contacts are flawed in some of their information; for Mycroft is not out of the country if the wine glass sitting by the sink and the light from under the bedroom door are any indicators. Jim, he likes a challenge and the fact that Mycroft may react strongly (a shout perhaps or even a stuttered word) is enough to allow Jim’s fingers to curl around the doorknob and slowly allow himself access to the bedroom.

Nothing could have prepared Jim for the site of Mycroft in the middle of a large bed lying on his side with a book lying under his lax fingertips. Honestly Jim feels so ordinary with the way his heart picks up and he has to resist the urge to coo aloud at the man. With silent steps he makes his way towards the Ice Man before pulling the book away, marking the page with a crisp 5000 ruble banknote and turning off the bedside lamp. But Jim knows how weak he is when it comes to the temptation of danger so he lifts up the comforter and slides in behind the sleeping man. And oh god, if the sight of Mycroft didn’t take Jim’s breath away, the feel of the man’s shoulder muscles shifting to relax into Jim’s embrace almost does. Rubbing his nose against the back of the Ice Man’s neck confirms that the man isn’t physically cold as his name suggests. Lying in Mycroft Holmes’ bed uninvited and without the man’s knowledge gives Jim such elation it almost hurt. As the clock runs past half an hour, enough time for Mycroft to once more enter REM, Jim reluctantly pulls away. Mycroft’s body moves in sync with Jim’s attempt to escape and soon the consulting criminal finds himself chest to chest with the other man. Arms wind themselves around Jim’s waist and he shows his surrender by pressing his lips to Mycroft’s temple.

Another half hour passes and Jim knows he has to leave before this gets too messy to explain away. As he once more tightens his muscles to leave a sleep rough voice stops him dead.

“You know Jim, we’d get a lot more sleeping done if you’d quit trying to leave.”


	3. Watching A Movie... or CCTV Feeds

The certainty Mycroft has that Jim has found a way to not only hack the footage of the CCTVs but also control their movements is unnerving. The last two weeks have involved every camera pointing to a new direction on its own, only to reveal a spray painted letter that wasn’t there before. Jim must’ve spent time watching the rotations of each camera and then time them so that Mycroft never caught a glimpse of who left the vandalism. The message that each letter was adding up to was a very simple one and yet Mycroft has done nothing to acknowledge them except for ensuring each letter is either painted over or scrubbed away. Mycroft was secretly pleased that Jim was paying what seemed to be harmless attention to him. In Mycroft’s mind the longer he could keep Jim's attention, the less likely Jim was to burn Sherlock as he’d promised.

So for two weeks Jim kept leaving the message “GO OUT WITH ME ICEMAN” and for two weeks Mycroft had the letters erased, until the 15th day when no new letters appeared. The panic in Mycroft’s chest felt too similar to disappointment as he attempted to ignore it. Each evening a flutter of excitement would begin in his stomach until he checked the CCTV feeds and saw no letters had appeared, then his heart would pummel down and crush those butterflies. It had been 6 days, 23 hours and 15 minutes since the last “N” was sprayed on a wall, not that Mycroft was counting. Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, Mycroft released a sigh and reached to turn off the camera feed. A flash of movement in one of the screens stopped his arm midair when he saw Jim look directly at a camera and wink. Before Mycroft finished watching Jim’s eye open, a loud bang and bright flash of light drew him to look out his window.

In the sky, painted in luminescent fireworks were the letters “ICEMAN JUST DO IT” and Mycroft proceeded to throw his head back and laugh.

The next morning as Mycroft made his way pass a CCTV camera that seemed to be following his every motion, he stopped and looked directly at it much as Jim had the night before. Gathering up his courage Mycroft smirked and winked at the camera.  
That night when Mycroft entered his bedroom, a small white card rested on his pillow.

**If you spend tomorrow night with me, I won’t be able to plot any criminal activities. I’ll be in front of the London Eye at 9.  
xxx JM**


	4. First Date

Jim is aware of the pain shooting down his neck before he is aware of his hands bound behind his back.

“Oh for the love of God,” he groans when he spots the man sitting in front of him.  Within seconds Jim figures out the man is in his late forties, has a damaged marriage, two cats and a daughter who blames him for her inability to hold a relationship. 

“We hear you can tell us the location of Jim Moriarty,” the man growls in an American accent as his fingers clench around a metal crowbar resting on his lap.  Probably CIA

They must have gotten his location off of his Spanish clients from last week, as Jim had pretended to be a messenger when they met rather than divulging that he is Moriarty.  Slowly bringing his eyes to meet the others, Jim puts on a look of terror and assesses more of the room around him. He is bound with zipties instead of handcuffs, shoes removed, dried fluid on his face (blood, must’ve gotten a cut by his hairline) and he appeared to be sitting in an unmoving bus of some sorts.  A second man sits in the driver’s seat and has a gun resting in a thigh holster but it seems to only be the three of them.

“L-l-l-listen, I’ve been down on my luck lately and when this bloke a-p-p-p-p-proached me on the street and offered me money to deliver an envelope to these people I couldn’t say no,” Jim stammers and even manages to make his eyes water slightly, “I didn’t know them. Oh god, please don’t kill me!”

The swing of the crowbar into Jim’s kneecap is not unexpected but his character requires Jim to let out a loud scream of pain, “Oh god oh god oh god. I d-d-d-don’t know anything! I have a fiancée and we needed money! Please! Believe me!”

The man grabs Jim by the back of his head and wrenches Jim’s face into a cold bucket of water, “You’re gunna tell me everything about the man who gave you the money and the men you met with. And then we’re going to put you somewhere for safe keeping in case we have any more questions. Now we can do this the hard way or the easy way, your choice.”

Jim feels himself start to become light headed from the lack of oxygen when he hears the whoosh of a bullet followed by the sound of glass shattering. “What the fu-” the man sitting in the driver’s seat manages to get out before the bullet lands square between his eyes.

His head is pulled from the water and Jim manages to gasp in a deep breath of air before the hand wraps around his neck and a gun is pressed to his head.  The man drags Jim towards the emergency exit at the back of the bus and kicks open the door before pulling the two of them to the ground.  Jim feels his head wound reopen and a fresh rush of blood starts to slide down his face.

“You’re gunna tell me who the fuck is shooting at us and then you’re gunna let them know if they try anymore shit I’m gunna splatter your brains against the side of this bus!”

A vicious growl escapes Jim’s mouth before he throws his shoulder into the man’s face and rolls away from him.  The lone figure of Sebastian Moran is running towards them and before the CIA agent can even lift his weapon towards Jim, the later has kicked him over and dug his foot into the agent’s throat. Moran reaches them moments later and plants a bullet into each of the man’s legs before pulling out a knife and turning towards Jim.

“Give me your knife,” Jim tells Moran after his hands have been cut free.  Handing his boss the knife, Moran sits in the open doorway of the bus and waits.

Jim faces the bleeding American and puts on a venomous smile, “Jim Moriarty. Hi! Now normally I don’t get my hands dirty with someone as ordinary as you.  But then again you did make me miss my date tonight it is only fair I make you miss your face.”

Before Jim can bring his arm up to slash at the man, his vision starts to blur and he slumps to the ground. As Moran jumps up to catch Jim’s fall he hears the sound of a helicopter drawing near.  The damn CIA had backup and he and Jim were about to get caught right in a fucking trap.  Sebastian lifted his gun to shoot the injured agent beside them when a tranquilizing dart hits his neck. Oh FUCK. The helicopter lands near the three men, all lying passed out on the grass, and Mycroft Holmes steps out.

“Anthea, it appears that both Mr. Moriarty and Agent Hanson are in need of medical attention. If could alert the nearest hospital we’ll be arriving shortly with Mr. Moriarty. You and Mr. Moriarty’s companion can take the helicopter there with him and I shall contact the CIA and follow in the second helicopter that should arrive shortly.  Thank-you dear.”  

Mycroft pulls several concealed weapons off of each man before his own men carried the two onto stretchers and into the helicopter.  Pulling out his phone, Mycroft dialed his contact as the CIA, “Kevin, hello. I regret to inform you this is not a social call. It would seem Agent Hanson has gone rogue with another agent I am unfamiliar with. Agent Hanson is wounded and his accomplice took a fatal shot. I am quite confident that the British citizen they kidnapped will recover now that we are sending him to medical care,” Mycroft pauses while the man on the other line speaks, “Yes of course Agent Hanson is a very respected Agent but seeing as he entered Britain illegally and had no authorization from us to apprehend this gentleman, I can only assume he acted without the approval of the CIA. I’d hate for how messy things would get if that wasn’t the case. We cannot allow Agent Hanson to be treated here as he’s not technically in the country. I will spare my helicopter to drop him off at the airport, as a favour to you. Perhaps he will reach you before his injuries become fatal,” once more Mycroft pauses, “Ah Kevin, I knew you’d see things as they are. Wonderful. We will have to do lunch when I am in America next month. Ah the helicopter has just landed. I will let you go. Goodbye.”

Mycroft gestures for the men in the helicopter to load up the two American bodies before he relaxes into his own seat.

* * *

Jim finds himself slowly waking up to the noise of pages being turned.  When his eyes adjust to blinding white light he finds Mycroft sitting beside him reading through a stack of files; however, it’s the weight of Mycroft’s hand resting overtop of his own that lulls him back into a comforting sleep.  Just before he drifts off fully he feels Mycroft squeeze his hand and mutter, “I dare to hope our second date won’t be quite as adventurous as this one Jim.”


	5. Kissing

Mycroft had never been one who was into kissing, it seemed like not only a waste of time but also unhygienic. He enjoyed kissing during sex but was perfectly content the times he had sex and kissing was foregone. Considering his history, Mycroft could never have predicted that he’d spend most of his free moments wondering what it would be like to kiss Jim. Of course, Jim himself didn’t help the situation. Anytime the man allowed a CCTV camera to locate him, he’d blow it a kiss and disappear before the next camera could track him. He knew that he and Jim were most likely going to kiss with the sexual tension that was growing between them but Mycroft couldn’t stop his mind from fantasizing about it.

Would Jim brush his lips lightly against Mycroft’s, like he had done to Mycroft’s forehead when they slept in Mycroft’s bed? Or would he devour Mycroft’s mouth with the same crazy passion he devoured everything else with. Sometimes Mycroft had illusory thoughts of Jim pressing his mouth firmly against his own and nibbling on his lower lip; he’d imagine the rough brush of Jim’s stubble against his cleanly shaven cheeks as the man pressed slow kiss after kiss onto him. But Mycroft also envisioned Jim pressing him against a wall and plundering his mouth with his tongue, stretching to taste even the backs of Mycroft’s teeth. The thought of those kisses always left Mycroft slightly breathless.

Jim had managed to evade hospital security just a day and a half after being admitted and since then Mycroft had no contact with him other than the fleeting CCTV feeds. It was torture to Mycroft. He’d never had a problem bedding any person he wanted, a few carefully worded phrases and he had whomever he desired wrapped around his finger. Once Mycroft tasted what he wanted, he was very talented of moving on and focusing back on his career. Jim was an anomaly; he was as smart as Mycroft and almost his criminal equivalent, it made Mycroft want more than just the man’s fit body but also to exchange witty banter with the man. Mycroft felt he might be able to have a mental relationship with Jim.

The sight of Jim sitting in Mycroft’s reading chair did not faze the former as he entered his living room. Mycroft simply placed his suitcase on the kitchen counter and poured two cups of red wine before sitting across from Jim. A flash of white teeth confirmed that Jim was pleased with Mycroft’s reaction, or lack thereof.

“I’m disappointed your security team is so incompetent, and also a teensy bit pleased,” Jim drawled while reaching to pick up his glass of wine.

Mycroft took a sip before answering, “I’ve noticed no matter how much I tighten their protocol you still manage to find your way unobserved into my home. But you are the criminal mastermind, so I’d expect you could get past almost any security system in place.”

“A mastermind, am I? You should be careful how much you flatter me Mycroft Holmes; it may go to my head.”

“Yes, how unfortunate it would be if we allowed your ego to grow any larger. I fear you may not be able to leave the house you’d be so big headed.”

“You’d like that thought, wouldn’t you iceman? You’d like if I could never leave. Daddy would always be home waiting for you,” Jim took his first sip of the wine.

Any remark Mycroft wanted to make slipped his mind as he watched a tiny portion of Jim’s pink lips stain purple. Jim noticed Mycroft’s reaction right away and ran the tip of his tongue over his lips before whispering, “Iceman’s not so cold right now, are you love?”

Taking a rather large mouthful of the wine, Jim stood from his chair and took Mycroft’s cup from his hands. Placing the cup so Jim drank directly from the same spot Mycroft had, he took another drink of the wine. Mycroft’s mouth went dry and he could feel his heart rate pick up. There was no way his eyes weren’t dilating and also no way that Jim wasn’t picking up on every blatant cue Mycroft’s body was giving off. Jim placed Mycroft’s cup beside his own on the table and lowered himself to straddle Mycroft’s lap. Letting his eyes drift shut Mycroft anticipated the kiss to come; however, it did not land on his mouth. Whispering Mycroft’s name over and over, Jim brushed his lips feather light over any piece of skin he could find. He flicked his tongue quick over Mycroft’s ear before nibbling his way across Mycroft’s jaw. As he did all this, his fingers removed his partner’s tie and started to make their way down his chest, undoing buttons as they went.

Breathlessness could not explain the unbelievable light headedness that Mycroft felt each time Jim traced a new patch of skin with his mouth, teeth and tongue. Each motion left a trail of fire across his skin but Jim never drew close to his mouth. Mycroft lost any pretense he had of control when he gasped out almost silently, “Jim, kiss me, please.”

Jim looked up from where he was kneeling between Mycroft’s legs halfway through undoing the man’s pants. A mischievous smile danced on his lips as he pulled out Mycroft’s cock from his pants.

“I have been kissing you Mycroft love. Before tonight ends I hope to have kissed all of you,” and with the Jim placed a light kiss over the head of Mycroft’s cock. Mycroft watched as Jim closed his eyes and hummed before pulling back the foreskin and sliding his tongue through the bead of precome, “although I wonder if any other part of you will be as delicious as here.”

Jim ran his tongue along the underside of Mycroft’s flesh before sinking his mouth over it completely. Hands wove themselves through Jim’s hair and pulled the man up until he was eye level with Mycroft.

Mycroft gasped as Jim curled his hand around the abandoned skin and started to stroke and twist, “For the love of this country, kiss me Jim.”

“Mmmmm, I’d love to kiss you. Just tell daddy where.”

As much as Jim predicted the results teasing Mycroft would have, he did not expect the man to push him off and start walking to his bedroom, “Jim, I am going to get naked and lie on my bed and if you are not there within the following ten seconds and thoroughly kissing my mouth, I cannot be held responsible for anything I may do next.”

Jim watched flabbergasted as Mycroft’s retreating form started pulling off his suit coat and dress shirt.

“I’m naked, you have ten seconds Jim,” a voice called from thee open door. Jim all but flew from where he was into Mycroft’s waiting arms.


	6. Wearing Each Other's' Clothes

Jim feels like the cat that has gotten the canary. He stretches his muscles slowly and listens to Mycroft typing away at his computer in the adjoining office. Burying his head into Mycroft’s pillow and breathing in deeply, Jim realizes he needs to shower and get out of the other man’s house before he winds up more attached than he already is. Rolling out of bed, Jim starts looking to collect his clothes, but his pants (the lovely bright green ones he wore when he first met Sherlock) are missing. Shrugging it off, Jim quietly makes his way to the bathroom, noticing that Mycroft’s fingers never once slow or stop on the keyboard.

The hot water runs down Jim’s back as he stands in a luxuriously large shower. Jim has the means to indulge in places even nicer than Mycroft’s but considering he never stays in one location too long, it seems foolish. But here in Mycroft’s shower, he starts to think he may have been wrong. The water pressure is strong but soothing against his muscles and the scalding heat of it all makes Jim want to stay wrapped up in it forever. Jim forgoes washing his hair (imagine smelling like Mycroft all day) and runs the scentless soap over his body. As he turns off the water and wraps a towel around his waist the door to the bathroom opens.

“Here Jim, I brought you a toothbrush and razor from the guest bathroom if you needed-” Mycroft’s words are cut off as Jim pushes him against the door frame and starts sucking on his tongue.

Jim had no inclination that Mycroft, with his sleep messy hair wearing nothing but an undershirt and Jim’s bright green pants, would bring him from zero to one hundred in an instant. His hands start pushing up at Mycroft’s shirt until it is bunched under his arms and Jim latches onto one of Mycroft’s nipples. He swirls his tongue across the small bud and grins when Mycroft gasps at the bite he follows with. His hand runs through the light dusting of red hair on Mycroft’s chest before making its way down. Mycroft huffs out Jim’s name before sinking to his knees in front of him.

He discovers himself staring down at Mycroft’s face as he pulls away Jim’s towel and sucks one of Jim’s testicles into his mouth. Jim wants to throw his head back and feel but he doesn’t want to miss a moment of Mycroft in his pants bringing him off. Jim grabs at Mycroft’s hair with one hand and holds open Mycroft’s jaw with the other before directing his aching cock into the man’s mouth. The answering groan from the politician as he starts to thrust his hips assures him that Mycroft enjoys having his mouth thoroughly fucked. Jim feels the coil of pleasure in his stomach as one of Mycroft’s hands reach up to massage his balls.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Jim demands as he notices Mycroft’s unoccupied hand inch towards his prick, “I’m going to cum deep down your throat and before you even have a chance to catch your breath, I’m going to shove my fingers inside of you and make you explode all over those pants.”

Mycroft’s eyes snapped shut as another moan tips Jim over the edge. Before the white of his orgasm takes over, Jim is able to grab at the lotion on the counter beside him and slick up two of his fingers. As he promised, Mycroft finds himself on all fours with Jim draped over his back before he can even finish swallowing Jim’s seed. Pulling the pants down just enough to expose Mycroft’s hole, Jim swirls his finger around the opening before plunging in. Mycroft lets out a soft grunt and a small trail of semen escapes his mouth. Jim starts pulsing his finger over Mycroft’s prostate, loving the near silent guttural noises escaping his partner’s mouth. By the time Jim is entering his second finger, the noises are changing to high pitches noises. Laying bites and kisses all along Mycroft’s back, Jim reaches with his free hand to start palming at the aching hardness he finds. Mycroft starts thrusting his hips against Jim’s hand while grinding against Jim’s fingers. With one last keen Mycroft shoves his body forward and Jim feels sudden warmth against his hand.

Carefully he pulls out his fingers before turning onto his back and pulling Mycroft onto his chest. They both lay on the tile floor panting until Mycroft starts pressing kisses to Jim’s clavicle.

“That was very different from how I anticipated this morning to go,” Mycroft murmurs against hot skin.

“Oh?”

“I expected you to leave without giving me a second glance,” Mycroft’s words do not seem to hold any hidden emotions, just plain fact, “but this was most definitely nicer.”

Jim feels his entire body shake as he laughs at the man lying in his arms, “Weeeeeell you can’t expect me to walk away when you look so delicious in my pants.”

Mycroft offers Jim a hand up after he stands, “it only seems polite for me to give you a pair of mine since yours have been ruined.”

The pair of forest green pants with the initials MH stitched on the side that Jim wears out of Mycroft’s flat aren’t the only reason he finds himself smiling throughout the day.


	7. Role Playing

“Jim I can’t turn a blind eye to this!” Mycroft stared at the man in front of him, “whatever you and Irene are playing at with the terrorist cell is not something I’m okay with.”

Mycroft received Jim’s text, “ _Jumbo jet, dear me Mr. Holmes, dear me_." In that moment he felt nothing but heart wrenching fear.  Sherlock had committed an act of treason and Jim was going to relay information to terrorists and ruin the MODs planning.

“Mycroft, I have to play my part. I’m not going to throw away everything I worked for because I’m taking a roll in the hay with you!” Jim sneered at Mycroft.

“How lovely that I’m a convenient lay, but one must wonder why you’ve spent the last four months bedding the same person if that’s all it is.”

“Oh I’m sorry, does the side of the angels not approve of my work? Why don’t yooooooou stop being a do-gooder?  Everyone knows crime has more benefits.”

Mycroft sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, “Jim why are you here? Surely you didn’t think you could show up at my house tonight like nothing had happened.”

The reply that Jim had was cut off by the sharp noise of Mycroft’s phone going off.

“Hello Anthea,” Mycroft paused to listen, “She does? Tell her we’ll meet her at Heathrow, I suspect Sherlock will be there shortly,” Mycroft pressed his lips into a thin line while listening to Anthea talk, “I’m aware that they will need someone to blame. We will try and scapegoat as much blame as we can onto Miss Adler. I’m leaving immediately, there’s no need for you to join me dear. Thank-you.”

As Mycroft grabbed his coat he turned to Jim, “Consider this easy shag no longer easy. I do hope you aren’t here when I return.”

 

* * *

 

Mycroft toed off his shoes, mentally exhausted from the stress of the day. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for the next few days. Of course that wasn’t an option considering that the plane would not be bombed, the secret service would know someone informed the terrorists, and within the week Sherlock would certainly be wanted for treason. A long list of plans needed to be created for every scenario in order to keep Sherlock out of prison. Mycroft took off his jacket and hung it in his closet before turning to go to his office for a late, possibly endless, night.

“Mycroft,” Jim’s voice broke the silence.

Turning on his heel, Mycroft saw Jim sitting cross legged on the center of the bed, “Mycroft, Irene Adler and I made these plans before I strapped a bomb to John Watson. She had been meeting with that client for over a year in order to catch him make a careless mistake and I couldn’t call her off without rousing suspicion. I have a role to play. I can’t-” Jim’s voice seemed to leave him for a moment. He took a gasping breath before continuing, “-I can’t stop being James Moriarty, not even for you. But I relayed incorrect information to the terrorists, even before I saw you tonight. Irene will have a large reward placed on her head and I'm not-”

“Jim,” Mycroft kneeled on the bed in front of the smaller man, “we have Irene’s phone. If that plane gets bombed tomorrow then everything will be set right. If you’re telling me the truth then-”

Jim presses his lips to Mycroft’s and death gripped the other man’s shoulders, “they will Mycroft. I promise you.”

The tension that had been building in Mycroft’s shoulders dissipated and he pulled Jim down to lie beside him on the bed. He did not want to address the amount of relief he felt at Jim's loyalty, it was too concerning. They exchanged slow and chaste kisses while stripping each other of their suits. 

“We play our roles out there in the big bad world, you as Mycroft Holmes and me as James Moriarty, but who I am now, in your bed, is the real me,” Jim whispered against Mycroft’s hair.

Mycroft looked up at Jim with clear eyes before sighing, “We’ve just committed ourselves to something that’s going to end terribly, haven’t we?”

Jim presses a kiss to the man’s hair and smiles, “at least we aren’t  _ordinary_ dear.”


	8. Shopping

Jim was spending every night that he’s in the area at Mycroft’s. It gets to the point that Mycroft passes him a security card and tells him he’s welcome anytime and doesn’t even have to sneak past security to get in. Normally Jim would scoff at the sentiment of it all, but really it was practical for Jim to have a security pass and it’s not like Mycroft could have stopped Jim from arriving anytime he pleased. There is absolutely no need for the extra spring in his step when he flashed his card to the doorman and is granted access to Mycroft’s flat, even when the man was out of country.

With their busy schedules, the couple only ever gets to spend three nights at most together, but when Jim bounces onto the bed and smells the remnants of Mycroft’s shampoo on his pillow the nights apart feel much easier to bare. Extra hangers appear in the closet and half the dresser drawers seem to fill up with Jim’s belongings until one day the cleaning lady starts asking Jim for supplies when she needs them. When Jim asks Mycroft when he does the shopping to pick up those things, Mycroft laughs and gives Jim the information to order groceries and supplies online.

Of course this causes more trouble than either man could have foretold. Mycroft, who sticks to a fairly strict eating schedule orders mainly fresh produce and lean meats, while Jim, who has always had a fast metabolism, considers himself to be a meat and potatoes guy.

“For the love if the country, there is no reason for us to have three boxes of patty rings!” Mycroft grumbles as he stares into the cupboard.

Jim saunters up next to him and opens the door to the cupboard beside the one Mycroft is glaring at, “Oh yes, because I’m going to live on kale chips and almonds.”

“I understand you like sweets but we’ve got two boxes of ice lollies in the freezer from last week,” the sniffing noise Mycroft makes it seem like the treats have personally offended him.

“It’s not like you have to eat them Mycroft.”

Jim knows he’s said something wrong when Mycroft dramatically shuts the cupboard and slumps into his reading chair.

“Come on, you don’t even need to diet, you’re absolutely gorgeooooous Mycroft.”

Mycroft seems to be trying to gather his strength before he finally speaks, his ears red with embarrassment, “I used to be heavier in my youth. I wasn’t able to just eat one toffee; I had to eat the entire bag. It’s shameful how little self-control I had. Having this food around worries me that I’ll eat one and not be able to stop.”

Sitting on Mycroft’s lap, Jim winds his arms around the other’s waist, “I can’t say I understand, since I think you’re the definition of sexy, but I can tell you something. If you ever lose control, Daddy will make sure we do lots of hard, fast exercise to burn off those calories.”

Twisting Mycroft’s head to face him, Jim kisses along the other man’s cheek bones and down to his mouth. Jim nibbles on Mycroft’s bottom lip until the other opens his mouth with a slight moan. His tongue, still sweet from the ice lolly he’d eaten earlier, swirled into Mycroft’s mouth and encouraged the other man’s tongue to play.

Breathlessly Mycroft pulled away, “Perhaps if I get enough of you, I won’t crave any other treats.”

With a laugh Jim leans in to kiss him again, “I am fully willing to test that hypothesis.”

Mycroft still complains from time to time about the sugary treats that Jim keeps adding to the shopping list, but every time he does, Jim knows the perfect way to silence those protests.


	9. Hanging Out With Mummy

Mycroft couldn’t bring Jim round for a chat with John and Sherlock, nor could he introduce Jim to any of his co-workers considering they have all been on lookout for him for the last few years. Heaven forbid Jim actually had any friends that weren’t subordinates and terrified of the man. So the only person Jim and Mycroft were able to visit together was Mummy.

The bimonthly trips to the country to spend a day or two with Mummy started to regularly feature Jim not even three months after they’d first spent the night together.  Jim was not silent about his disappointment the first time they visited, “your mother is so _ordinary_ , how did she pop out you and Sherlie?”

Mycroft simply hummed and didn’t say anything. However, every weekend that Mycroft packed a bag for his trip, a similar sized bag of Jim’s was already sitting by the door.

* * *

“Oh Jim sweetheart,” Mummy cooed as she pulled the young man into a hug, “I missed you dreadfully when Mycroft had to come alone. Everything sorted at work now?”

Jim gave a one armed hug in return and couldn’t help the slight smile pulling at his mouth.

“Come along, I’ve set some tea out in the garden.”

Arm and arm with Mummy, Jim finds himself being led out to the most dazzling garden he’d ever seen.  There were rows of roses outlining the garden, there was a large marble fountain in the center and an array of exotic oranges, yellows and reds colored the flowers around it.  Jim sank into one of the rather large chairs that Mummy had led him to before Mycroft sat beside him and interlocked their fingers.  Jim sipped at his tea while watching birds race each other through the garden. The soft noise of Mycroft catching his mother up on his and Sherlock’s lives soothed Jim, even if he wasn’t truly listening to the words.

“Well don’t you just look content Jim darling,” the voice of Mummy drew him from his musings, “whatever are you thinking of?”

He couldn’t very well say it was being in Mycroft’s company that made him content, that Mycroft was the only person Jim felt comfortable  _not_ _thinking_ around, “Oh you know, just plotting the deaths of thousands.”

There was no doubt in Jim’s mind where Mycroft got his laugh from as both of the Holmes’ chuckled at his statement.

“I’m relieved you and Mycroft made up after that fight you had, he can be so stubborn.”

“Oh, you told her about our fight?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Jim’s question and Mummy answered before he had a chance, “Of course not dear, but I can see the way you are relaxed around each other, however the way that you are both sitting straight instead of leaning towards one another suggests a slight hesitance. Now I know neither of you is foolish enough to commit adultery so just recovering from a fight seems plausible.”

“You do that thing Sherlock does!” Jim exclaims before he can help himself, unable to hide the amount of excitement this revelation brings.

Once more both of the Holmes’ shake with laughter, “That is curious as well. You are acquainted with Sherlock and yet Mycroft has not told him about your relationship. Why is that?”

“Mummy,” Mycroft starts, “I very much doubt that Sherlock cares to know my personal life.”

The woman looked over her teacup, eyes never leaving Jim’s face, “Or could it be that your boyfriend is the very same man who gave Dr. John Watson a jacket made of explosives?”

Panic settled into Jim’s bones and for a moment he thought he was about to lose everything, “Mummy, stop worrying Jim,” Mycroft squeezes his hand and turns to him, “Mummy’s obviously deduced this the first time you came round so she hasn’t an issue with it Jim.”

She smiles, the very same one the Sherlock gives John, and leans forward to pat Jim’s knee, “I hope in the future you’ll be family Jim darling. We cannot begrudge family for a few explosions or death threats. Goodness knows we’d have stopped talking to Sherlock before he was even ten if that were the case.”

As she stood up she turns to her eldest son, “Mycroft, your horse is being an absolute terror sine you’ve left, perhaps you should take Jim out for a ride; he can use my horse.”

And all Jim can think of is the word  _family_ , how he’s never truly had one, and how he doesn’t seem to mind the thought of being family with this crazy group of geniuses. 


	10. With Animal Ears

Jim wakes up to cold sheets and no warm body to cuddle into.  Mycroft has been in some undisclosed location for the last four days and Jim is starting to hate it. Mummy had invited them up for Easter and Jim had made sure his plans were all wrapped up so he could have the weekend free. The political world did not seem to get the same memo as the criminal world, and so Mycroft was shipped away the Wednesday before Easter. Jim wasn’t one to care for holidays, especially religious ones, but he was looking forward to a weekend of relaxation.

With a grumble, he flicks on the bedside lamp and notices the trail of chocolate mini eggs starting at the end of the bed and leading out the bedroom door. Sitting beside the lamp is a small woven basket holding a pair of bright pink rabbit ears. Tossing the ears a skeptical look, Jim grabs the envelope that rested against the side of the basket.

**Dearest Jim:**

**I regret that I have been away from you these last days, but I’ve arranged an Easter Egg hunt to keep you occupied. There are 15 eggs placed around the house and each contains a letter or number. Once you’ve figured out the address, go there to room 216. There will be a laptop in the first room, use it to contact me.**

**Yours,**

**Mycroft**

**P.S. Wear the ears, I picked them out just for you.**

With a roll of his eyes Jim decides to shower before humouring Mycroft’s plans. Once he’s out of the bathroom and dressed in his all too familiar suits (with a pink tie to match the ears adorning his head) he picks up the basket and follows the trail.  The first ten eggs are no challenge to find, under pillows and tucked in potted plants, but the last five are tricky. One requires Jim to take the cover off a floor vent, while another requires him to dismantle the stereo system; however, less than two hours later, Jim has all 15 eggs open.  Mycroft was not lying about each containing a piece of paper, but he forgot to mention that each is filled with candy hearts and chocolate eggs.

Jim is almost certain that the location is a hotel of some sorts so after quickly deducing every possible combination the letters could make, only one is a hotel with standards up to Mycroft’s. Smirking to himself, Jim stalks to the door and reaches up to pull the ears off his head.  A small note is taped to the door:

**Be a good sport Jim and keep them on.**

Mycroft is definitely too good at predicting Jim’s behaviour. But Jim is rarely one to disappoint so he hails a cab and makes his way to the Hotel, bunny ears and all. When he reaches room 216, a cleaning lady exits the room beside him and silently hands him a room key. Swiping the key, Jim opens the door to see a lavish living area with huge leather recliners and wall sized television. Sitting on the coffee table was a small, sleek laptop.  Opening it up, Jim is greeted by the sight of Mycroft in matching pink rabbit ears.

“Happy Easter Jim. You got here even earlier than I expected!” Mycroft smiles through the screen.

Jim smiles back unable to stop, “I found the egg in the toaster by fluke when I took a break to have toast so that saved me time.”

The man on the computer hums, “You were very good to keep those ears on, and perhaps you deserve a treat?”

Suddenly the view on the screen changes as Mycroft shuffles backwards on the bed. Jim feels his blood rush south as his lover reveals that he is fully naked apart from the rabbit ears.  Mycroft runs his long fingers over his stomach and up towards his nipples. Pinching one, not as roughly as Jim pinches them, and shoving two of his fingers into his mouth, Mycroft looks delicious. Jim watches as Mycroft strokes himself, once and then twice, before moving the hand back up to the other nipple.  When Mycroft finally pulls his fingers from his mouth Jim can see them glistening wetly. His own hand sneaks down to undo his pants at the sight of that.

“Just watch Jim or you won’t get your entire treat,” Mycroft chides before gasping as his fingers circle his rim, “I like using my saliva as lubricant when I finger myself Jim. It reminds me of the time you spread me out on the couch and licked me open until I was begging for you.”

Mycroft looks absolutely sinful with his legs bent up to give Jim the best view of the two fingers scissoring him open. His lips are flushed red with arousal and his nipples are swollen pink from the constant attention Mycroft’s free hand is giving them. The amount of precome leaking down Mycroft’s shaft is causing Jim’s mouth to water with want. The pink rabbit ears still clung onto Mycroft’s head despite the man thrashing his head each time he touched his prostate.

“Mycroft,” Jim croaks, “I  _need_  relief, I can’t watch you look so perfect without touching myself.”

His lover reaches off screen before his hand comes back into view with a bottle of lubricant.  Applying the slick into three of his fingers and roughly shoving them back into his pulsing hole, Mycroft finally looks up at the camera.

“If you,” he cuts off with a gasp and Jim watches as his cock jerks against his stomach, “go through the left hand door behind you, I’ll allow you to touch yourself if you still wish to.”

Picking up the laptop and standing on shakey legs, Jim’s eyes never leave the screen while he walks to the door. He’s so absorbed in the sight of Mycroft falling apart on the computer and the thought that he was going to finally have some relief that he doesn’t take much notice to the room he’s just entered, that is until he hears Mycroft gasp twice, once through the computer speaker and once from the bed lying three feet away from him.  The laptop smashes onto the floor as Jim rips off his clothing.

“You are one sneaky man,” Jim licks his way up Mycroft’s shaft collecting all the fluids he was craving in the living area, “I’m going to have to reward you for such cunning planning.”

Mycroft reaches his hands up to grasp at the headboard while Jim rolls the condom onto his aching flesh.  With a quick slide of his hand, Jim applies lubricant to himself before sliding into Mycroft in one strong stroke.  The wanton moan that Mycroft let’s out urges Jim to pull in and out without hesitation or mercy.

“There, there, there,” Mycroft chants as Jim reams into him over and over, striking the man’s prostate.  The leverage the headboard gives him allows Mycroft to slam his body down with every thrust in that Jim makes until the two of them have set a ruthless pace.  Mycroft hooks his legs around Jim’s waist as his orgasm takes over and he sprays his stomach and chest with cum.  Jim goes to slow down and give Mycroft a moment but the politician just continues to thrust his hips up until Jim resumes their debauched pace.  With a bite to Mycroft’s shoulder Jim loses himself to his orgasm and continues to thrust as he milks it. Pulling out with a wince Jim ties off the condom before looking down at the still panting Mycroft.

“Well aren’t you just a mess Iceman,” leaning down Jim swipes his tongue through the cooling liquid on Mycroft’s stomach, “I’ll clean you up, yes?”

After he was done and settling into Mycroft’s arms, Jim notices the pink ears still on Mycroft’s head. Reaching up he straightens his own before fixing Mycroft’s, “you’re slightly adorable considering you’re the second most dangerous man in the world.”

With a chuckle as his reply, Mycroft brushes his nose against Jim’s and whispers, “Happy Easter Jim.”

Jim returns the gesture, “I believe Easter is my new favourite holiday. What could be more entertaining than a holiday celebrating someone tricking everyone into thinking he’s dead?”


	11. Vacation

Mycroft never felt fear at the prospect of going home, even after Jim proved he could evade the security detail like it was child’s play. But now with ten stitches in his cheek and a cast securing his shattered radius in place, Mycroft finally felt fear at going home. Anthea, armed with Mycroft’s pain medication and a stack of minor incident reports, had sternly told him that he was to go home and remain there for at least four days. The nausea Mycroft was feeling had little to do with not being fed for the last week and more to do with the man he had left at home the week before. Would Jim still be there after no word from Mycroft for a week? The answer to that question terrified the politician.

“Thank-you Anthea. I’m sure I will have all these incidents solved within the first hours of my forced vacation,” Mycroft grumbled as he reached the door to his flat, “I will ring you tomorrow and arrange for more if need be.”

Anthea, who hadn’t touched her blackberry since they’d found Mycroft bloody and battered in an abandoned church, gave him a forced smile before suddenly giving him a gentle hug, “I’m glad we found you alive sir.”

With a deep breath in, Mycroft unlocked his door and stepped quietly inside. Things were dark as Mycroft placed the bag Anthea gave him on the floor by his umbrella stand. He turned on the light to the living area to find every piece of décor and furniture he owned smashed. Remembering the struggle that ensued when the men had grabbed him confirmed that this damage was caused after he’d been taken. Lightly stepping over the destroyed objects and making his way to the kitchen established his belief that Jim had caused the mess. The only item in the kitchen that wasn’t lying in ruin on the floor was the tea set Mummy had given both of them last time they visited her.

“Mycroft.” A gruff voice caused the politician to turn towards the hallway, only to see Jim with bloodshot eyes and at least six days’ worth of stubble, “Mycroft you were taken.”

“I’m here now though Jim,” Mycroft responded softly, not sure how to react to that man, “What happened here?”

Jim’s eyes were transfixed on the cut on Mycroft’s cheek and he inched towards the man until he was close enough to run his thumb along the side of it, “There was nothing. These  _idiots_  somehow managed to take you without leaving a trace of themselves behind. I didn’t know what to do, I almost called Sherlock!”

“It was communist sympathizers who took me. You couldn’t have known as only five people in our office even knew they existed.”

Jim’s eyes flashed down to Mycroft’s cast before staring at the man with a hardened gaze, “I’m their King Mycroft. I  _own_  those morons and I still couldn’t find you. I thought I wouldn’t see you again.”

Mycroft brushed his lip against Jim’s, ignoring the pain from the cut he had across the lower one, “You can’t get rid of me that easily Jim.”

Jim ran his fingers up and down Mycroft’s biceps, “how long are they making you stay off work?”

“Four days if they’re lucky. I was thinking of going to see Mummy, if you have a day or two to spare.”

“Iceman, for you, I have as many days as you like,” Jim’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Mycroft led Jim to their on suite bathroom, as they passed through the bedroom he noticed the sheets were ripped to shreds, the dresser was thrown over and the full length mirror by the door had been punched at least 3 times. He sat Jim down gently in the tub before filling it with warm water. Gently Mycroft ran water across Jim’s skin, followed by soap and then more water until Jim started to ease. Once that change had been made, Mycroft carefully stripped himself of his blood ruined suit and manoeuvred himself behind Jim. Lying in the tub, careful not to submerge his cast in the water, Mycroft held Jim while the man was unusually quiet.

“When they had me Jim, all I could think of was you. The last seven months with you were the only thoughts that took me away from the torture they were putting me through,” Mycroft felt Jim tense in his arms, “Shhhh Jim, it’s fine. I need to tell you this.”

Jim shifted in his arms until they were face to face, and then he delicately licked his way into Mycroft’s mouth, “I’m an idiot, Iceman.”

“Jim you’re not an idiot, you couldn’t have known who took me. Things are not-”

“I’m an idiot because of  _sentiment_. I’m an idiot because I thought you were going to  **DIE**  without knoooooowning!” Jim’s voice started to crack into the theatrical voice he’d used in the pool the night he met Sherlock.

“I’d very much like you to come to Mummy’s with me. I fear we both are in need of a break from stress. It will be a vacation of sorts.”

Jim pressed a kiss under the cut on his cheek, “I’m in love with you, Mycroft Holmes.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual, I assure you,” Mycroft wrapped the fingers of his uninjured hand around Jim’s waist and pulled the man closer, “we may be victims of sentiment but at least we aren’t  _ordinary_  Jim darling.”


	12. Making Out

Jim sucks Mycroft’s tongue into his mouth as his hands hold the man’s face firmly in place. He feels as if he’s about to float endlessly into an abyss and Mycroft’s mouth is the only thing that can keep him grounded to the Earth. He can taste the remnants of Earl Grey tea as well as a subtle hint of honey; he runs his tongue over the sharp edges of Mycroft’s teeth and continues to suck on the man’s lower lip when he pulls away to breathe. Once his lungs are satisfied, Jim presses his mouth onto Mycroft’s once more. This kiss has teeth nipping at the swollen mouth and tongues running teasingly across each other. Even though it must hurt, Mycroft doesn’t comment on the death grip Jim has when he moves his hands to his shoulders, and Jim continues to press himself closer and closer to the man. The sound of the front door slamming open doesn’t deter Jim from his mission to crawl inside Mycroft’s skin; however, the voice that follows results in both men pulling away from each other with eyes wide as saucers.

“MYCROFT!” Sherlock bellows from the entrance. Pressing a kiss to Jim’s cheek, Mycroft tucks his tie back into his waistcoat before slipping out the bedroom door.

“Yes brother?” he enquires calmly as if he hadn’t just been thoroughly snogged by a man who threatened to kill Sherlock less than a year ago.

Sherlock is pulling items out of Mycroft’s cupboard, “Since when do you keep anything sweeter than fruit biscuits here?”

The box of cookies in Sherlock’s hand crumples as he tightens his fist and stares incredulously at his brother and spits out the words, “You’ve bought these for whoever you were clearly being ravished by. What happened to caring not being an advantage  _Mycroft_ , or are you a hypocrite as well as a liar?”

“May I query as to why I am being accused of lying  _this_  time, brother mine?”

“Oh come off it Mycroft. You know I’ve found the audio bug tucked away under the fireplace mantle. You promised to remove your security!” the younger brother sneered at him.

Mycroft’s mouth draws into a wry smile, “I promised to remove the cameras. Perhaps you should be less careless with how you word your requests.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes at Mycroft, “I’ll tell Mummy you’re  _shagging_  a man and didn’t even bother to tell her, she’ll be heartbroken.”

“Now Sherlock, you cannot blame me for your inability to be meticulous in wording your requests. It makes you look positively childish. As for Mummy, my partner and I have been having tea with her for months. Now I must ask you to leave as I was otherwise occupied before you stormed in.”

“You are intolerable. That man must be completely blind and  _utterly stupid_  to not notice how you’re a lazy fat arse.”

“Mmmm,” Mycroft hums not the least bit hurt by his brother’s abuse, “unfortunately you may be correct, as he tells me I have a magnificent arse, quite constantly I must admit.”

“DELETED! DELETED! DELETED!” Sherlock yells as he flounces out the front door.

Mycroft follows him brother and slides the deadbolt into lock before he finds himself being spun around and pushed against the door.

“You do have a  _magnificent_  arse Mycroft Holmes, but Daaaaddy’s waited long enough,” a naked Jim sings into his ear as he pulls Mycroft’s pants to his ankles with one hand.

Jim sinks to his knees and let’s his breath ghost along the tip of Mycroft’s cock as he circles a lubricated finger around the rim to Mycroft’s opening. His lips wrap around the head as the pushes the first finger in, crooking to hit that magic spot inside his lover. Mycroft’s thighs start to quiver as Jim continues to mouth at the head of his cock, attack his prostate with his finger and massage his bollocks with his other hand. Once he’s worked his way to three fingers, Jim slides his mouth the rest of the way down until his nose is pressed against soft ginger curls. He hollows his cheeks as he sucks aggressively, giving Mycroft’s shaft the stimulation he’d been craving. Mycroft’s testicles start to draw up after a few bobs of Jim’s mouth and he pulls away, mouth and fingers, before Mycroft gets off. Ignoring the faint whine from the man pressed against the door, Jim stands up and slides a condom onto his own aching skin. The relief is instant and he finds himself giving a couple more strokes before Mycroft grabs his shoulders and drags their mouths together. A leg wraps itself around Jim’s waist as he lines up against Mycroft’s hole. Holding up the other man’s leg, Jim feels as Mycroft bends at the knees to sink onto his cock head. The tight heat envelopes Jim and soon he is thrusting deep and unhurried.

In order to hold them up at the right angle, Jim discovers they cannot kiss. The politician slides down the doorway the moment Jim pulls away and before Jim can lay him out, Mycroft is pushing him down and sinking himself back onto Jim. Mycroft keeps the slow pace they had against the door but the new position permits Jim to press even deeper into him. Each thrust of his hips up and Mycroft’s down has the later breathlessly whimpering and Jim is filled with a sudden  _need_  to taste those noises. Once more grabbing Mycroft’s shoulders with a death grip, Jim pulls the mostly clothed man down for a kiss that is more panting into each other’s mouths. All too soon Jim pumps his hips a last few times before his orgasm sweeps over him. Pushing Mycroft onto his back, Jim slides two fingers back into his lover before securing his mouth over Mycroft’s cock. With only a few well-timed sucks and curling of fingers, Jim feels Mycroft’s warm seed flood his mouth.

A debauched swallow and a wipe of his hand over his mouth is all the time Jim gives before he is climbing over Mycroft and once more fucking the man’s mouth with his tongue. He places his hands at Mycroft’s smooth jaw and holds the man’s mouth open and sucks the breath straight from his lungs. Jim still feels as if he’s about to float away but the feeling of Mycroft’s hands running steady along his spine and the loving bites he returns to Jim are enough to keep the criminal contented.


	13. Eating Ice Cream

The autumn months were drawing near and the endless heat of summer started to give way to windy mornings and coloured leaves. Mycroft’s light coat was replaced with a slightly heavier and thicker wool coat and he had dug out a bin of scarves and mitts from the back of the hall closet. However, this particular September day seemed to have been misinformed that it was no longer summer. The air was hot and humid while the sun burnt down onto the concrete walkway to Mycroft’s building. Sweat had been collecting at his hairline since before lunch and he couldn’t wait to strip off the heavy jacket, perhaps even his waistcoat. Upon reaching the tenth floor and entering his flat, Mycroft noticed something slightly off. The carpet was indented in a way that suggested many people had been in and out of the flat for the better portion of the early day and there was a lingering scent of cardboard. Despite that, Mycroft was unable to deduct a scenario where those things would happen. The amount of people in and out could suggest Jim was meeting with them, but Mycroft was fairly certain Jim would not be foolish enough to bring clients into a place so personal.

Ever weary when it came to Jim’s mischiefs, Mycroft placed his umbrella in the rack and rested his suitcase beside it slowly. His first clue as to what Jim was up to was when he walked past the den and saw three boxes stacked beside the brand new bookshelf that was a twin to the one Mycroft already had shoved full of books. The second clue was when Mycroft entered the bedroom to hang up his suit jacket and found the closet, which already had a fair amount of Jim’s clothes in it, had doubled in content. After rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, removing his tie and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt, Mycroft felt less sluggish from the heat and more observant of the changes to his flat. A picture of a teenager, certainly a younger Jim, holding a trophy sat on the top of the dresser beside the picture Mycroft had of himself and Sherlock when they were children. He entered the living area and saw a new set of coasters, each one being a different face of the America’s Most Wanted list, as well as a ceramic apple sitting on the mantle of the decorative fireplace. It appeared as if Jim had moved into his flat.

Mycroft sank onto the full length leather couch that had not been there that morning and wiped the back of his hand against his forehead, collecting the sweat that was once more building from the heat. As he was contemplating getting up and opening a window or simply melting where he sat, the front door clicked open. He heard the sound of a paper bag crumpling as whoever held it shuffled it from one arm to the other. Jim came into view moments later as he planted a kiss to the top of Mycroft’s head and walked past to the kitchen.

“It’s hotter than Hell outside. I’m surprised you can’t do something about it,” Jim teased while he pulled a bowl out of the cupboard.

Not bothering with the effort of opening his eyes Mycroft answered, “You sound like Sherlock. Just because I occupy a  _minor_  position in the British government does not mean I can control everything.”

Jim’s laughter was drawing closer and Mycroft felt the man curl up next to him, “Oh is the Iceman thawing from the heat?”

Mycroft finally glanced at his partner and noticed the loose shorts and form fitting t-shirt hugging Jim’s chest. It momentarily distracted him from the contents of the bowl in Jim’s lap, if only for a second. The bowl held a lump of pink ice cream by the looks of it.

Jim dipped the spoon into the lump and brought it to his lips before sighing contently around the mouthful, “this rather does hit the spot. Would you like some?”

With a chuckle Mycroft glances skeptically at Jim, “what is the price I’ll no doubt have to pay for you to share with me?”

“Oh nothing much, nothing you won’t enjoy,” Jim gave him a saucy wink, “I just want to feed you.”

Mycroft’s tongue flicked over his bottom lip in a quick gesture that would’ve been missed if Jim had blinked, “You moved into my flat.”

Pulling another lump onto the spoon Jim carried it to Mycroft’s mouth and watched carefully as the other man licked away at the treat, “Very observant of you Mr. Holmes.”

The ice cream was pleasantly cool and Mycroft found the heat not nearly as bothersome. The taste of strawberries burst against his palate and he realized the ice cream was not from the market but homemade. He let Jim feed him two more mouthfuls before replying, “What was the trophy for, I couldn’t make out the engraving.”

Jim pulled the spoon from his own mouth as he’d taken a bite while Mycroft was talking. There was only one more spoonful left and Jim placed it in his mouth and swallowed as he ran his finger through the melted remnants at the bottom of bowl, “It was from a summer camp my aunt sent me to. They passed out a list with titles like best looking, most athletic, best joke teller and such. On the last week there they gave us each a trophy for whichever title you got the most votes on.”

After caressing his ice cream covered finger down Mycroft’s nose, Jim kissed the treat off. He hummed contently at his lover’s hand caressing the damp hairs at the base of his neck. Said lover pressed feather kisses to Jim’s jaw before sucking in an earlobe, “That does not answer the question I asked you.”

Jim leaned forward and placed the empty bowl onto the coffee table before lying back on the couch and dragging Mycroft with him until they were wrapped around another, “I was voted ‘ **Most Likely to Take over the World’**.”

Mycroft shook with silent laughter before finally resting his head on Jim’s shoulder and mused, “It sounds as though your camp mates were not as unobservant as most.”


	14. A Different Style Clothing

Mycroft had spent the last two days doing nothing but  _legwork_. After a meeting with the American President and the Prime Minister, the Queen volunteered Mycroft to take the men to the Holmes’ Estate for a few days of skeet shooting. In his youth, Mycroft had tromped through the bushes and fields of the large manor but those times were long past. Nevertheless, the President and Prime Minister agreed so Mycroft found himself entertaining politicians in his childhood home. Mummy was less than thrilled that Mycroft arrived with a large group of men, none of which were Jim.

“Mummy,” Mycroft hissed so the party in the next room did not overhear, “I’m certain you can deduce I’d rather have spent the last couple days with Jim rather than days outside shooting clay disks with these simpletons.”

His mother maked a noise identical to the one Mycroft finds himself making around Sherlock, “perhaps this is a blessing considering you rarely indulge in outdoor sports.”

Resisting the urge to immaturely role his eyes, Mycroft made his way back to the parlor holding a fresh tray of tea and scones, “I’ve received words that the traps are loaded so we may head down at your leisure, Mr. President.”

The Prime Minister laughed from where he sat languidly beside the President, “You did promise to actually shoot with us today Mycroft! Surely you won’t be doing so in a three piece suit?”

The gentlemen had let him get away with watching on the promise that he’d participate their final day, “It must have slipped my mind sir. I shall change while you finish tea and if you find it acceptable, we may head out.”

Mummy shot Mycroft a quick smirk before she turned to the statesmen and wrapped them around her finger with her charming remarks. Making his way upstairs, Mycroft grimaced at the prospect of skeet shooting. He hadn’t fired an over and under shotgun in five years and he’d never enjoyed the sport. At the risk of sounding like Sherlock, it was a  _boring_  sport; it was a matter of calculating velocity, direction and angles, something Mycroft could do in a matter of milliseconds. Upon entering his room, he approached the closet and pulled out a pair of dark beige khaki pants and a light weight grey collared shirt.  His phone rang shrilly beside him as he finished stripping to his pants.

_**That boy is a monster, m-m-m-monster, that boy is a monster. He ate my heart, (I love that girl), he ate my heart** _

“Jim,” Mycroft answered, bemused at the ringtone Jim chose this week.

“Mmmmm Iceman,” Jim sounded ready to start trouble despite being nowhere near Mycroft, “what’re you wearing sexy?”

With a frown and a quick glance around, Mycroft spotted the hidden camera tucked in the top corner of the boudoir mirror, “You bugged the room last time we were here.”

“I know how  _lonely_  you get when I can’t you join you at Mummy’s,” Jim purred into the phone, “If it helps, I’m wearing even less than you.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and let out a shuddered breath, “Jim I would love nothing more than to have you bend me over the bed and have your wicked way with me; however, I doubt the important people waiting for me would appreciate you as much as I do.”

The sound of a slick hand rubbing over skin made putting on the khakis more difficult than Mycroft expected. By the time he’s doing up the last buttons on his shirt he could hear Jim letting out short quick gasps. 

“Mycrooooft,” a final groan hit his ear as he pulled a dark blue jumper on.

He rubbed his hand once over his semi-hard crotch and he concentrated on his lover coming down from an orgasm. Mycroft spoke softly into the speaker, “I miss you Jim and I shall do everything in my power to see you tomorrow.”

“Mmmmm see that you do Iceman. I’ve  _really_  enjoyed seeing you in casual clothes, ta!” Jim leered back, and then almost as if he didn’t want Mycroft to hear he whispered, “I miss you more.” The line was dead before Mycroft could comprehend what he’d heard.

With a fleeting glance at the camera in the room, Mycroft retreated downstairs.

* * *

 

Having been caught in a brief but unexpected bout of rain, an umbrella-less Mycroft and his companions all made their way up to the manor soaked in mud and high on adrenalin. The men had been astounded with Mycroft’s ability to hit each target perfectly as well as the fluid smoothness he reloaded his gun, and so the elder Holmes found himself shooting trick shot after trick shot until the flood of endorphins has his body and mind racing with excitement. Mycroft felt an immature  _giddiness_  as he swapped jokes and laughter with the other politicians.

“My god Mycroft,” the Prime Minister clapped him on the shoulder, “I haven’t seen you this relaxed… well ever!”

The President laughed from Mycroft’s other side, “I’d believe it! I’ve never felt intimidated by another person until I became acquainted with Mr. Holmes.”

“You should be glad you didn’t meet him over a year ago, Mycroft has really mellowed in the last year,” a Minister of the Crown laughed along.

“Have I really?” Mycroft pondered aloud.

The Prime Minister reassured him as they reached the back entrance to the large house, “Don’t worry Mycroft, you’re still the most feared man in Britain, you’ve just get a little smile sometimes that makes you seem more human. But I’m more than ready to get outta these clothes so I’ll be heading to my room before we head out Mr. President.”

Mummy had just turned up and handed each of the the men towels to wipe off the worst of the mud before cooing over how they’d have to return anytime they chose. With a nod Mycroft bid goodnight to the men and promised to see them at the office in the morning. Still with a skip in his step from the adrenalin of shooting all day, Mycroft made his way to his room. He’d left his filth drenched shoes at the entrance and was pulling off his jumper when he reached the door to his room. The sight of Jim walking out of the bathroom in nothing but a dressing gown was enough to trigger every manly instinct Mycroft had.

He threw off his shirt as he stalked towards the shorter man before pulling him up for a fierce exchange of teeth and tongues. Jim practically sagged into the sudden and unexpected aggression that was Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft ripped the gown open and bit roughly into Jim’s shoulder.

“Gooooood, very gooood,” Jim couldn’t quite reach his singsong tone when he had Mycroft guiding him to kneel on the bed.

Mycroft managed to undo his bottoms and pull them down, as well as his pants, before he crawled up behind his naked partner. Jim’s entire body jerked forward at the first touch of Mycroft’s tongue to his entrance and Mycroft brought his hands to Jim’s hips to hold the man steady as he invaded the man’s twitching opening. Animalistic growls from Mycroft’s mouth only added to the pleasure Jim was drowning in. Unable to see straight, Jim felt pride when he was able to locate the lube he’d placed on the bedside table when he’d first arrived. Shoving it down towards Mycroft only resulted in him being flipped over and snogged until he felt even fainter.

Mycroft grabbed Jim’s hand and poured lube over two of his fingers, “open yourself up for me Jim.”

Ecstasy shot down Jim’s spine as he roughly shoved both fingers into himself, “Oh fuck Mycroft, I didn’t know I even  _needed_  you to fuck me, but god you’d better,  _you’d_   _better_.”

Mycroft slid one of his own fingers between Jim’s and watched the man’s hole throb and twitch as the two men stretched it.  While Mycroft was entranced by the sight of his lover, Jim wrapped his legs around Mycroft’s waist, “fuck me bare.”

They had talked about barebacking and had even gotten tested; however, they hadn’t had time for a proper shag since the results had come in. Mycroft’s cock jerked at the thought and he found his cock head pressing against Jim’s opening before he could even catalogue his movements.  With a slow and steady push, he buried himself into Jim until their balls nudged against one another. Mycroft held his breath as Jim stared up at him with eyes blown and dark red lips from biting at them. Jim gave a quick nod and Mycroft dipped his head to suck at the criminal’s tongue, the movement causing him to shift inside Jim. Once Mycroft was satisfied with the kiss, he grabbed Jim’s hips once more and held them up as he ruthlessly plowed into the tight heat.

“Uh, uh, uh there, yesssss” Jim hissed and drug his nails down Mycroft’s back as the taller man rammed his prostate with every thrust.

Snarling Mycroft demanded, “Touch yourself.”

It took a few hasty tugs and the bite Mycroft placed on Jim’s neck for the later to arch his back off the bed and let out a silent scream as his orgasm was stolen from his body. The feeling of Jim’s insides fluttering around him and the look on his face as Mycroft dominated him was enough to make him lose his own orgasm into the constricting heat surrounding his prick.  Mycroft wished he was still young because the sight of Jim’s spent cock twitching at the sensation of Mycroft cuming inside made the politician want to do it over and over. The fervour that had taken over Mycroft ebbed, as did the endorphins riddling his mind, and he rolled off of Jim.  Both men laid side-by-side on their backs, attempting to recuperate and regain function.

“Where did that  _come_  from?” Jim finally asked as awareness returned to his body.

Sheepishly Mycroft shrugged, “I was already high on hormones. The sight of you caused my inhibitions to abandon me.”

The shorter of the men pulled himself up and stretched his arms to the ceiling; Mycroft enjoyed the view of the back muscles pulling and extending, “I’m not complaining Iceman; that was one hell of a way to lose my arse virginity.”

Bolting up Mycroft looked at Jim, “you had never bottomed?”

Jim let out a laugh, cut short by a yawn, and he started to walk to the bathroom while calling over his shoulder, “you’re quite gullible Mr. Holmes. Let’s shower since you’ve made me a delicious mess.”

Mycroft watched as his seed made its way down Jim’s leg in a small shiny line before scrambling after the man in a way so incredibly clumsy that he’d deny the action.


	15. Morning Ritual

Jim loves waking up in the morning. To be fair, when there was the promise of destruction, plotting and violence to be had each day, he enjoyed waking up in the morning as well. In spite of that, he never realized how truly  _pleasurable_  waking up could be until he spent months waking up in Mycroft’s arms and never growing tired of it. Jim loves rubbing his cheek along the sparse curls on Mycroft’s chest and listening to the whoosh of air with each inhaled and exhaled the man takes. Usually Jim lies in bed for five minutes before pressing a kiss to Mycroft’s nose and heading to the shower. By the time Jim is done, Mycroft has made the bed and set out one of his suits on it. The smell of coffee brewing and eggs cooking makes Jim rush to put on his own suit so he can head into the kitchen. It doesn’t matter how many times Jim sees Mycroft making breakfast in nothing but a dressing gown he can’t fight the impulse to enfold the man and press kisses to the back of his neck.

“There’s coffee in the pot,” Mycroft’s nose wrinkles in distaste at the thought of drinking coffee.

Jim pours himself a cup and tops up Mycroft’s tea if it’s needed. By this time it’s usually close to six and Mycroft’s phone starts buzzing and beeping with incoming emails and requests. A smirk crosses Jim’s features as he ruminates how fortunate being his own boss is, everyone knows that Jim Moriarty is not to be disturbed before eight. Mycroft places a plate in front of Jim and then he leans against the counter eating with one hand and scrolling through his messages with the other. Usually Jim gets the slightly less healthy version of Mycroft’s breakfast, like this morning as his partner chews a bite of an egg white omelet, peppers being the only filling, Jim has a much larger omelet with peppers, ham and cheese all layered inside. Jim devours the entire omelet and two cups of coffee before Mycroft as the latter is chewing slowly and has his fingers flying over the keys of his phone. Opening the door to the flat, Jim grabs the paper and heads back to the kitchen to see Mycroft placing both their plates in the dishwasher. Setting his phone on the counter, Mycroft has usually dealt with the most pressing issues by six thirty, he turns his attention to Jim as they read the top headlines.

“I bet you a blowjob that the front page headline tomorrow will say  _sixth victim of the Shadow Skinner found dead_ ,” Jim bats his eyes as Mycroft.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow and replies, “I counteroffer for the name of who took the launch codes for Berlin if the top headline says  _Sherlock Holmes catches Shadow Skinner and saves the would have been sixth victim_ ”

“Why is it I bargain for sexual favours and you bargain for  _boring_  things?” Jim pouts at Mycroft, “But I’ll make that bet.”

The slight quirk of Mycroft’s mouth gives away his thoughts and Jim adds quickly, “you can’t help him! And how do you know who the Skinner is when  _I_  don’t even know yet.”

“My dear Jim, you’ll feel a fool tomorrow when the paper informs you as it is quite transparent.”

With that parting remark, Mycroft kisses Jim’s cheek and heads to the bathroom. Jim pours himself a third, and last, cup of coffee before sending a text to Sebastian. He continued to give his snipers instructions and confirming his meetings until he heard the water in the shower turn off. A soaking wet and naked Mycroft is one of Jim’s favourite sights so he hops off the counter stool and makes his way to the bedroom. Jim is not disappointed when he walks in to see a very nude Mycroft standing at the center of the room, thumbs flying over his phone once more. Jim glances at the clock and to his dismay sees no time for some early morning frottage. With a sigh, unheard over the noise of Mycroft’s phone ringing, Jim hands the man his pants. Mycroft shoots him a smile while putting them on and trying to calm whomever is on the phone. Jim guides Mycroft’s arms into his shirt before doing up the buttons and pressing silent kisses to the underside of Mycroft’s jaw. A hand entwines itself in Jim’s hair and Mycroft pulls his head back gently and rubs closed mouth kisses onto Jim’s mouth each time the person on the other line screeches away at him. With a barely there flick of his tongue onto Jim’s bottom lip, Mycroft removes his hand and resumes comforting the individual on the phone. Jim pulls a waist coat onto his lover and fastens the tie before guiding Mycroft to sit on the edge of the bed; he then kneels down and pressed a closed mouth kiss to the bottom of each foot before slipping socks and shoes over them. When he looks up, Mycroft is no longer on the phone but is staring down at him with blown pupils.

“I love seeing you between my legs,” Mycroft croons, “you look gorgeous there.”

He surges upward and ravishes Mycroft’s mouth before picking up the pocket watch on the bedside table and attaching it to the man’s waistcoat, “I am  _rather_  gorgeous.”

Jim walks with Mycroft to the front door and proceeds to snog the man until a chime from his phone alerts him that Anthea is waiting downstairs. Before Mycroft leaves, Jim presses a small box and card into his hands. Mycroft smiles and presses another kiss to Jim’s mouth, “I’ve set up a scavenger hunt for you to receive your gift Jim. I have arranged for it to take up most of the day. We have reservations at 7 so I ask you don’t take too long.”

“If you’ve planned for it to take a day, then I’ll be finished in half a day,” Jim teases.

With a nod Mycroft turns to leave after teasing back, “Happy Anniversary of our first date Jim. Do try not to get kidnapped this year; I’d hate to cancel our reservations.”

Once Mycroft is settled in the car beside Anthea he looks at the gift Jim has passed him. Inside the box is a tie pin with a bright red ruby carved into the shape of an anatomically correct heart nestled in gold. But it is the card that makes him smile in a way that causes Anthea’s heart to burst. She loves knowing her boss has finally found happiness he deserves; she just wishes she knew who to thank for that. With a sneaky glance at the card, she has to focus all her attention on not laughing at the words.

**Blood runs bright red,**

**Drowned corpses turn blue,**

**If there’s one person I adore,**

**It would have to be you.**

**xxx Happy Anniversary Mycroft Holmes**


	16. Spooning

Mycroft’s voice was weak with exhaustion but he still managed to let out a contented sigh as Jim pulled out of his body. The consultant looked down as Mycroft made no effort to move or even role onto his back, instead the man dropped his hips and buried his face into the pillows.  With a slight shake of his head Jim walked to the bathroom to get a wet flannel; once he was done cleaning up Mycroft, he lay down beside the man and reached down for the duvet that had gotten pushed to the foot of the bed. Before Jim could even bring it up completely, Mycroft had maneuvered him onto his side and proceeded to nuzzle at his neck.  Although they never stayed in that position throughout the night, Mycroft always latched onto Jim’s back and spooned behind him.

Having the taller man curled around him made Jim feel small, delicate even, despite the knowledge that Jim could make the politician beg to be taken  _harder_ and  _faster._ The first few times it had happened Mycroft would make an excuse like he was avoiding the wet spot or his back hurt from Jim clawing at it, but eventually Jim resigned to the fact that Mycroft enjoyed cuddling him after sex. Once morning came, it was Jim who wanted to be near the other man, as a reminder that even in the harsh light of the morning sun Mycroft still wanted Jim in his bed. At night all of Jim’s rough edges were smoothed away by the potential of wine filled dinners, late night massages and sexual gratification. When the moon had retired, the callous sun relieved him to be Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal; a man capable of murder and destroying lives. Jim teased Mycroft constantly about being on the side of the angels, about being an angel, to distract them both from the fact that Jim was the opposite shoulder, the devil tempting you to sin. With an angel at his back holding him close, Jim felt safe. In order to stab Jim in the back they’d have to go through his angel, and Jim knew he was the only one cruel enough to kill an angel.

Jim never could fall asleep immediately after sex, unlike Mycroft who was asleep within a minute or two of orgasm. It was a habit from when Jim was younger and used to sleep with contacts to gain information; everyone has a loose tongue after getting their brains screwed out. He’d lie in Mycroft’s arms and wonder when his life turned into a cosmic joke. As his lover slept mollified and resting so he could save the world come morning, Jim mentally plotted and schemed to bring that world to its knees.  They lived in an ignorant bubble that was waiting to be popped by the grimy fingers of reality and Jim knew they couldn’t have long before that happened. Eventually he lost track of time and when he let his eyes focus on the clock in front of him, he saw it was close to four in the morning. He’d lost an entire night’s sleep thinking of every scenario in which Mycroft would leave him.

“Jim,” Mycroft’s voice was rough with sleep and he tightened his hold on the smaller man’s waist, “it’d be best if you stopped wondering when it will come to ends.”

Unable to find words, Jim rolled around and pressed a kiss to each of Mycroft’s closed eyelids before pecking the man’s mouth. He closed his eyes, face buried in Mycroft’s chest, and finally let sleep overcome him.

* * *

 

The first think Jim became aware of was the hand stroking his shoulder and the soft click of phone buttons being pushed. He then became aware of the scent of Mycroft’s faded cologne and the lightly furred chest under his cheek. Pushing his head up Jim looked at the clock, almost noon, and then down at Mycroft who hadn’t stopped texting.

“You loathe texting.”

That received a single raised brow but still the man did not look from his phone, “That is correct; however, you were sleeping and I’d have hated to awaken you.”

Jim could tell Mycroft had left the bed at some point, the fresh breath and the lack of noise from Mycroft’s stomach meant the man had breakfast and brushed his teeth. He still hadn’t looked up from his phone even when Jim slithered out of the bed and went into the loo, taking a piss and brushing his teeth before returning to the warm bed.  A blackberry sat on Mycroft’s bedside table while its owner had taken to burying himself into Jim’s spot on the bed, nestling into the pillow. There was still enough room for Jim to get in on his side and draw himself tight into the man’s arms. Soon they were leisurely kissing and Jim felt his prick go from gratified to very interested in a matter of moments. Mycroft grinded his hips forward, pressing a similar hardness into Jim’s. The kissing became less coordinated as Mycroft seemed to stop participating, simply holding his mouth open and whimpering into Jim’s mouth as the criminal swiped at him with broad strokes of his tongue. Finally Jim pulled away from the kisses to see what was distracting the other man, only to see Mycroft pushing three fingers into his pink opening. Reaching for the bottle of lubricant abandoned by Mycroft’s hip, he stoked himself in time with the thrust of Mycroft’s digits.

A set of teeth sunk into Jim’s earlobe and pulled his head lower until he got the hint and started licking back into Mycroft’s mouth. When a thigh had draped itself over Jim’s hip and a hand slicked him with lubrication, he grabbed his aching member and started rubbing the head back and forth over the dripping entrance. A keen from Mycroft was all Jim needed to slowly press his cock into the greedy hole and both men groaned as he pulled out slightly before pushing in a little deeper each time.  Face to face and curled on their sides made it difficult for Jim to go very deep but he grinded his hips into the tight heat and wrapped his slightly sticky hand around Mycroft’s leaking member. In spite of their slow pace both men found themselves at the brink of orgasm much sooner than they expected, Jim coming first and coating Mycroft’s insides with his ejaculation before pulling out and gliding down until his face was level with Mycroft’s crotch. Jim pressed a kiss to the inside of his trembling thighs before surging his tongue across Mycroft’s fluttering hole in a rough hard stroke.  With a groan, Mycroft came, splattering across his stomach, while Jim obtained a rush of his own come from the man’s opening. He felt his own sated cock twitch with sudden interest and before he made his way back up Mycroft’s body, Jim busied himself by licking at the trails of white that glistening on Mycroft’s upper body.

“Let me taste us,” Mycroft grumbled when Jim was refusing to hasten his task of tidying the mess.

Propelling himself up, Jim pressed his mouth to Mycroft’s and let the man take deep, interested swipes at his palate and tongue. From the corner of his eye Jim saw the clock change time to half past noon before he realized something, “Did you have work today?”

“Hmmmm, yes,” Mycroft muttered sleepily before resuming his raid of Jim’s mouth.

But Jim was having none of that as he kept himself at arm’s length from the man until he elucidated, “I  _am_  entitled to days off Jim. And although I spent a quarter of an hour answering security questions so they knew I was not being coerced, I believe our morning activities more than made up for it.”

With a look that expressed Jim’s dissatisfaction with the answer, he leaned forward and let the taller man resume kissing him. The kisses exchanged between them started to slow as Mycroft drifted to sleep and Jim resigned to his fate and rolled over to play little spoon to the embrace of the man behind him. 


	17. Doing Something Together

Both men stood in the living room staring at the empty spot where the couch used to be. A large rectangular box sat on the floor surrounded by bags of glittering orbs and ornaments. Mycroft had forgone his three piece suit for a pair of simple dress pants and a collared shirt while Jim was wearing the same t-shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in. Mycroft had to all but threaten Jim into coming with him to the living area.

“This may be the biggest waste of time I’ve ever engaged in,” Jim sneered.

Without glancing at his partner, Mycroft opened up the large box and started pulling out pieces of the fake tree. Jim silently crouched beside him and started putting the pieces together until the six foot tree stood proudly, albeit crooked on one side, in front of them. Mycroft noticed the scowl still on Jim’s face but chose to ignore it in favor of opening a box of small white lights. He motioned for Jim to hold the end at the bottom of the tree and Mycroft started to make his way around the tree, looping it in and out of branches until he finally reached the top.

“Mycroft,” it sounds like more of a command than a word, “ _why_  are we wasting our lives on this; it’s past Christmas.”

Mycroft handed Jim four large golden bows and then proceeded to tie the ones in his own hands onto the tree. The shorter man followed suit and soon the both of them were picking red and golden ornaments out of the bag and placing them on tree branches until the first bag was emptied and the tree was halfway decorated.

“It’s not like either of us believes in  _God_ , we’re not fools of religion,” Jim protested while grabbing a large glass ball from the second bag and crouching to put it near the base of the tree.

Without a response from Mycroft, the two men continued decorating the tree until the second bag emptied as well. The third bag divulged a dark blue tree skirt with lines of red and gold intricately woven through it. They each took a side and pulled it around the base of the tree before meeting at the back and attaching the two ends. Jim glanced up from his task to see Mycroft giving him a half smile.

With a huff Jim crawled out from under the tree and scowled. The slight smile never left Mycroft’s face as he pulled out the last item in the third bag. _It was an angel._  She had blond ceramic curls and her dress was a gorgeous display of white, gold and blue. With an outstretched arm, Mycroft held her out towards Jim.

“Going to have an angel on the tree so you remember which side you’re on?” Jim’s voice lacked in the same venom his first comments had.

He placed the angel on the tree as Mycroft bent over to plug the lights into the wall. The view took Jim’s breath away and he became distantly aware of Mycroft placing his arms around his waist.

When he’d stupidly confessed to Mycroft in the beginning of December that he hadn’t celebrated Christmas since he was thirteen, the man had promised they’d celebrate this Christmas together. When the end of the month started to draw near, both Mycroft and Jim found their hands tied. One of Jim’s drug rings ended up encroaching on another’s territory and he had to personally go down there and establish that  _his drugs_  were not to be touched or taken. There had been a few casualties to ensure the lesson was taught but Jim didn’t get to make it home for Christmas. Not that it would have mattered as Mycroft found himself on the opposite side of the world trying to find a loophole in a legal document that was stupidly signed before being properly examined. Both men returned the day before New Year’s Eve, in foul moods.

Jim had been home first and got to listen to all the voicemails left for Mycroft on the answering machine.

 **Happy Merry Christmas Mycroft!”** came the voice of Dr. Watson through the speaker, the sound of a party happening in the background, **“Sherlock says you’ve been called away but we wanted to let you know we’re thinking of you this holid-” John’s voice is cut off as Sherlock grabs the phone, “John’s a victim of too much sentiment and even more mead. Nobody cares that you’re not home for Christmas. Also, don’t come to the New Year’s Party at Lestrade’s, I doubt he can afford enough appetizers to feed you. BEEP”**

Fresh anger bubbled up inside Jim and he had to remember his plans for Sherlock in order to calm himself. Luckily the next message was from Mummy.

**“Jim dear, Mycroft’s informed me he’s been called away but if you find yourself home earlier than planned then I expect you to pack a bag and come spend the holidays with me. If not, Merry Christmas darlings and I shall see you in January. I adore you both. BEEP”**

The gruff voice of the Detective Inspector followed.

**“Um…I know we don’t really know each other that well, but I’m having a little thing at my new apartment an’ I know you’ve been keeping my superiors off my back abou’ letting Sherlock onto the cases so I thought it’d be nice to have you stop by. Anyways, Happy Holidays Mr. Holmes.” There is a short pause, “Oh, this is Greg Lestrade by the way. BEEP”**

Jim didn’t like the idea of Mycroft doing any other men any favors, despite logic telling him Mycroft wasn’t doing it for the DI but for Sherlock. The noise of the next message broke Jim’s train of thought.

**“Good morning, sir, it’s Anthea. I’m sorry to hear you aren’t home for the holidays. I’m simply calling because I wanted to wish you and your mystery partner a Happy Christmas. I will see you in the New Year. BEEP”**

For a moment Jim considered replaying Mummy and Anthea’s messages, to pretend like his presence was an acceptable thing in Mycroft’s life; however, he shook that reckless thought away and reminded himself that he had just spent the last week systematically deciding if people would live or die. There is no room for a person like that to go to Christmas and New Year’s parties with  _Mycroft Holmes_. Jim felt resentment settle in his stomach.

That resentment stayed like a stone in his gut until the moment he saw the tree glowing in their living room and had Mycroft warm along his back. Mycroft pulled away and left Jim to stare at the tree, ignoring the movements of Mycroft in the kitchen. Jim snapped out of this trance at the same moment that Mycroft returned holding two warm mugs. He sat onto the loveseat that was situated across from the tree and lifted his arm for Jim to curl under. The silently sipped at the hot cocoa, spiked with chocolate liqueur, and watched the lights twinkle around them.

“Thank-you,” Mycroft finally spoke.

“Mmmmm,” Jim hummed, “don’t expect me to indulge you all the time Mr. Holmes.”

Neither man commented on the way Jim curled a little closer to Mycroft than he normally did nor the almost childlike gleam in his eyes as he stared at the tree. The men carried on long conversations in hushed tones, only pausing when Mycroft got up to refill their drinks. Soon they could feel the alcohol buzzing along their spines.

“I much prefer this Christmas over last years,” Mycroft started a new topic softly.

Jim lets out an exhalation of breath that was riddled with laughter, “Yes legal fiascos are much nicer than  _The Woman’s_  apparent suicide. She sure got under Sherlie’s skin, impressive reeeeaaally.”

“You have no idea,” Mycroft drawled, “Sherlock never did become attached to people. Even now I can honestly think of no more than three people he truly considers important.”

“Mmmmm, there’s you and his little pet, but I can’t even imagine anyone else,” Jim murmurs into Mycroft’s side.

It was Mycroft’s turn to laugh, “I am the last person Sherlock would deem important. No, it would be his doctor, his landlady and his detective inspector.”

“ _Lestrade_  right?” Jim enunciates, “He invited you to his party tonight.”

With a glance at the clock that had been ignored the entire evening, they realized it was well past midnight. Jim drew Mycroft down for a kiss.

“If I had gone to his party I would have not only been unable to spend tonight with you, but I would have had to suffer my brother’s taunts,” Mycroft practically pushed the words into Jim’s mouth with his tongue.

Jim pulled away with a smirk, “He must’ve been insufferable as a child.”

“You have no idea,” Mycroft began to tell Jim stories of growing up with Sherlock and Jim attentively listened well into the early morning light of a new year.


	18. Wearing Expensive Clothes

Mycroft was used to seeing Jim in his expensive suits, much as Jim rarely ever saw Mycroft out of his three pieced ones unless they were in the bedroom. However tonight was the first time the two of them, adorned in their fancy clothes, would go on a legitimate  _date_. Delight bubbled in Mycroft whenever he had thought about their date over the past week. He had rented a vehicle under the alias  Richard Brook, a name Jim had suggested, for them to drive to Essex. The dinner reservations, under the same false name, were with a subtle, high quality restaurant Mycroft had dined at the previous year. For once Mycroft was going to be able to eat dinner with Jim in public and not worry they’d get caught at any moment. He’s taken every security precaution to ensure that nobody would think to look for them, let alone in Essex.

Mycroft noted as they were about halfway there, "The weather is picking up."

"What a shame it would be if we had to stay a hotel and  _shag_  over every surface," Jim's tone matched his words but the look on his face suggested he'd have no qualms about that plan.

The dispute on who would drive was ended promptly when Jim promised not to create any global catastrophes for a week if he could. Mycroft was unaware when he agreed that Jim's rule that driver picked the music. Upbeat 90s songs played softly in the background. When there was a lull in conversation, Mycroft couldn’t help but hum along. With less than half an hour left, the first few raindrops started to hit the windshield. The weather did not impede on Jim's ability to drive; however, the sudden  **bang**  of one of the back wheels popping was another matter.

Mycroft opened his umbrella and walked to Jim's door so the man did not ruin his cloths while they investigated. They both peered skeptically at the tire.

"I don't suppose you dabbled in vehicles before you became a consultant?" Mycroft glanced at the other man uneasily.

"Not in the least!” Jim scoffed, “But I think the two  _smartest_  men in the United Kingdom should be able to figure it out."

Mycroft popped open the trunk and went to pull out the spare tire while Jim rifled in the back seat for a jack to lift the vehicle. A sudden gush of wind flipped Mycroft’s umbrella inside out and left it in ruin. The rain instantly seeped through Mycroft’s suit jacket and the vehicles speeding past them on the road were splashing small trails of mud up the side of it.

“Jim, perhaps we should flag down another vehicle?” Mycroft sighed; the evening was not off to a good start. The stood by the broken down car for less than five minutes, long enough for their clothes to soak, before a vehicle finally came to a stop behind them.

“Do you need a hand sir?” Anthea stepped out of the vehicle holding a bright blue umbrella. She handed it to her boss before pulling a jack out of her trunk. Her movements are efficient and precise as she changed the wheel out, “It was concerning that you made plans to all but disappear for a night on the very same day I witnessed James Moriarty leave your flat.”

She flashed Jim a quick smile before continuing, “I’m glad to see I was of help, and thankfully not for the reasons I’d feared.”

Mycroft stared astonished at his assistant, unable to make a sound.

“Thank-you,” Jim called before the woman got back into her car and drove off. The men followed suit and their conversation turned to the Holmes brother's uncanny ability to inspire unwavering loyalty in the most unlikely of people. Soon enough Jim was parking in front of the restaurant; their clothes had dried during the remainder of the ride and they were no worse for wear, despite the small traces of mud on them.

Upon entering the restaurant they found themselves sneered at by the maître de, “Might I help you gentlemen?”

“Richard Brook,” Jim stepped forward, “I called this morning to confirm our reservation still stood.”

The maître de glanced down at the computer in front of him before looking back up, “How completely misfortunate, our computer malfunctioned earlier evening and we lost a few reservations. Yours seems to have been one of them.”

A couple standing next to Jim and Mycroft interrupted the conversation when the whispering spat they were having earlier turned into an outright argument, “You know what Stephanie? You’re bloody mental. It’s bollocks trying to keep up with your demands. I’m going home and if you keep acting all crazy, I won’t be bringing you with me!”

With a leer Mycroft remarked, “How fortunate they no longer seem to require their reservation.”

Once more chance seemed to be playing in their favor as Mycroft pulled Jim’s chair out before sitting in his own. Jim was listening intently as Mycroft recalled the first time a schoolmate had ever given Sherlock a Valentine’s gift. The boy was absolutely floored and proceeded to inform the girl of her parents failed marriage due to her mother’s attraction to teenage boys. They were caught up in laughter until Jim pointed out they had been there close to twenty minutes and not been addressed by their server.  
After another five minutes Mycroft managed to attract the attention of the server, despite the man’s body language instructing Mycroft he’d noticed long before, “We are ready to order. I will have the poached salmon with dill cream sauce and my companion will have the pheasant special. As well we will each take a glass of pinot noir.”

“If you desire, though I do hope you are aware the expense of this establishment.”

As displeased as Jim was with the condescending look the man was giving, and consequently determining if Mycroft would be upset if the man turned up dead, Jim did not conceive Mycroft standing tall and as he demanded, “I will speak with Mr. Criss now. You may let him know it is Mycroft Holmes who is requesting.”

Within moments of the server disappearing into the back, a short gentleman came rushing towards their table, “Mr. Holmes! I wasn’t aware you’d be dining with us tonight, the reservation was under a Mr. Brook I believe.”

“I wasn’t  _aware_  that Mr. Brook deserved to be treated so appallingly," Mycroft's cheeks and ears were bright red as he hurled insults at the man, "I assume it's because you're a homophobic, hypocritical arse! I can tell by the look your employees gave me that they are well away of this, perhaps because you express it, but no laws have made that unacceptable. More likely because you fired the young boy that they caught sucking you off one evening after shift. So you decide to make all gays the villains to make up for your unprofessional behaviour. Did you tell them he seduced you and would do the same to them if they let their guard down? Nobody will ever hear your name and be able to think of anything more than disgrace. You can be certain myself and my acquaintances will never patron here. Good day!"

Jim, led away by a furious Mycroft, threw his head back in laughter the moment they reached the car, “I have never seen you lose it in public. It was  _absolutely_  deeeelicious!”

“Yes as wonderful as it was for me to fall victim to my emotions, we no longer have plans for dinner.”

“We passed a pizza place across the street.”

“You must be jesting, a pizza place.” Mycroft noted Jim driving across the street towards it, “I can't fathom how tonight turned so wrong regardless of the solutions being presented right after the mishaps. It's infuriating!”

Jim sings, "it's you and me together handsome, that's all it takes to make a night right."

Jim pulled into the parking lot and walked around to open Mycroft’s door. The two of them walked hand-in-hand into the tiny building and sat among the love struck teenagers and exhausted families, eating pizzas in their expensive suits.


	19. Dancing

Soft violin music drifted through the air as Mycroft sat in his reading chair, nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes were closed and a small crease was present between his furrowed brows. Jim leaned in the doorway and watched his lover, waiting for the man to be ready to talk. Once the song changed to a sullen melody, he placed his cup on a coaster baring Ted Bundy’s face and met Jim’s gaze.

“They’ve confirmed Ms. Adler’s death this morning,” he stated, “how long have you known she was beheaded in Karachi?”

Jim stepped into the room and perched on the arm of Mycroft’s chair, “I didn’t keep tabs on her.”

“I find that difficult to believe. Ms. Adler did feed your organization incorrect information about the Heathrow flight, according to you.”

Jim brushed his fingers over Mycroft’s hand, “I helped her out of the country and gave her freedom from my persecution as a thank-you.”

“A thank-you for what Jim?”

“When we first created our plan to have her seduce Sherlock, she mentioned she’d much rather seduce you. It was her who had me notice how completely  _sexual_  you are,” Jim laced their fingers together.  

“I’m flattered to be sure,” Mycroft drawled, “I worry for Sherlock. We told him Ms. Adler was in witness protection in America, but if he investigates it won’t be difficult for him to find the truth. She’s already a vulnerability; I’d hate to see his reaction if faced with the loss of more people he cares for.”

“You really do worry about him  _constantly_. Is that why we’re listening to him playing the violin?”

Mycroft glanced at the man sitting above him, “Sherlock gave this to me before he got involved in drugs. It was one of the last times he actually wanted me for a brother.”

With a non-committal hum, Jim moved to switch out the CD for another.  Euphonious piano started to play and Mycroft stood, taking the hand Jim was holding out. Jim pressed closely against him and they danced to the slow music.  The fire Mycroft had lit to ward out the chill of late February cast a serene glow onto them.  After a few songs, Jim tucked his head under Mycroft’s chin and the dancing altered to their bodies simply swaying in rhythm. Mycroft felt an ache in his heart he’d only ever experienced when Sherlock was in danger; it was an ache that signified unconditional love. His arms, wrapped around Jim’s back, tugged the smaller man even closer.  Jim pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s shoulder before pulling back completely.

“Mycroft,” Jim’s voice barely raised in an attempt to not break the serenity of the moment, “you have made me even more dangerous. Before my  _little games_  and destructions were done only to amuse me, and I was brilliant at them. But now I think of anyone  _hurting_  you and I know I must keep them under my thumb so I can squish them at any moment. I used to image bringing the world to its knees for you.”

Jim dropped to one knee, “Now I only imagine myself down here doing what I thought to be the  _inane_  act ever. I want you to be mine, as much I as I am yours. Mycroft Holmes would you do the stupidest thing two people can do, and marry me?”

To say Mycroft was stunned would be an understatement. The politician felt his legs give out; he fell to own knees in front of Jim. He breathed out even quieter than Jim had asked, “Yes, yes of course. Jim Moriarty yes, forever.”

Jim pulled a small box from his suit pants and exposed two small gold bands inside, “they’re identical to the one you have now, but there’s an engraving on the inside of each; your initials in mine and my initials in yours.”

“Jim, you always- no one’s ever- you’re the only person who leaves me perpetually speechless,” Mycroft started to run kisses over Jim’s face, “I know we haven’t said it since the first time but I  _do_  love you, so much I can’t begin to understand.”

Jim met Mycroft’s mouth and drew them up so they could go to the bedroom. Once they were there, Mycroft unknotted Jim’s tie and pulled it away before opening each button. As more skin was displayed, Mycroft kissed it with a closed mouth. Jim undid Mycroft’s waistcoat and pushed it off the man before removing his shirt as well. Soon they were both nude and Mycroft guided Jim down onto the bed. Their movements were slow as they each kissed and caressed the familiar body of their lover. Jim’s back arched when Mycroft licked at each nipple while running his fingers through the man’s hair, and in turn Mycroft gasped when Jim ran his hands over the other’s ribs. The politician finally made his way to his prize and he took Jim tenderly into his mouth. He ran his tongue along the underside of the shaft while his cheeks sucked tightly. Jim’s hips pushed up slowly on their own accord and Mycroft let out a small moan each time the tip of Jim’s cock brushed the back of his throat. With a tightening of his fingers on Mycroft’s shoulders, Jim warned the man of his impending orgasm. Pleasure sparked along the base of his spine as Jim coated his lover’s mouth. Mycroft pressed kisses along Jim’s hips while the man trembled in aftershock.

“Come ‘ere,” Jim steered Mycroft up so they could graze their mouths together.

Mycroft found himself being pushed onto his back as Jim continued his onslaught of his mouth. The sensation of Jim’s fingers trailing down his body and circling around his opening caused precome to flood the head of Mycroft’s prick. A lubricated finger made its way inside Mycroft and Jim pressed it in and out, avoiding Mycroft’s prostate.

“More,” the taller man gasped as he spread his legs further apart.

Adding another finger, Jim was still cautious to avoid the gland of pleasure buried inside the other man. Jim watched his fingers prod in and out of the pulsating hole and his spent cock started to fill with interest.

“Jim,” his lover sighed.

Ever compliant, Jim supplied a third finger and started kissing Mycroft.  The touch of the stretched, hot flesh of Mycroft’s opening around his fingers and the aching hardness of Mycroft’s prick against his own had Jim’s erection filling out completely. He pulled his fingers out and stroked a lubricated hand over himself before lining up. Jim guided the bell end to rub circles around the hole until it slowly sunk in. Both men let out noises of content pleasure and Jim kissed Mycroft while letting just the head rest inside. Before long he could feel Mycroft start to raise his hips; obligingly Jim pressed down until he was completely inside the other man. Jim pulled one of Mycroft’s legs onto his shoulder; he linking their hands together and starting to thrust. His movements were unhurried but thorough as he struck the man’s prostate for the first time that night. Mycroft sobbed with relief and began to meet Jim thrust for thrust. Sweat collected on Mycroft’s hair line and Jim leaned forward to lick it away. It felt as if they were connected in their pleasure for hours when suddenly Mycroft’s head pressed deeper into the pillow and he groaned out Jim’s name as he came.  The consultant continued to drive into his lover until he spent himself inside. Jim tenderly pulled out and rested his head on top of Mycroft’s chest.

“I love you too,” he smiled before getting up and returning with a flannel and the box with the rings. Jim wiped Mycroft clean and replaced the ring on Mycroft’s hand with the new one. He then slipped his own ring onto his hand before spooning up in front of the politician. With Mycroft’s arm snug around his waist and the promise of forever, Jim began to doze off.

* * *

Mycroft hadn’t been asleep more than a few hours when he heard Jim’s phone go off and the other man slip out of his arms. The weight of the new ring was identical to that of the previous one, but the old ring hadn’t inspired bliss the way this one did.

“This had better be important for you to be calling this late," Mycroft listened as Jim’s voice carried in from the office, “ _Reaaaally? Good, good!!_ If their loyalty to the job is confirmed then I want you to start the rumour. Let everyone know that Jim Moriarty has a code to open any lock, anywhere, any time.  We will need to find someone to investigate a certain British Ambassador and his children but I’ll work on setting the rest up. Then we really shall  _burn_ him. Ta!”

The effort it took for Mycroft to steady his breathing and pretend to be asleep, despite his pounding heart, was excruciating. Thankfully Jim entered the loo rather than immediately going to the bed and Mycroft found himself with more time to control his body. His heart rate normalized seconds before Jim left the bathroom and returned to bed.

Jim stared at the way the ring on his finger looked when he ran his hand through the hair on Mycroft’s chest and he whispered, “Forever Iceman”


	20. Baking

Mycroft knew rationally that it was not possible to feel your heart break because it was not possible for one’s heart to physically break.  But his conversation with John kept playing through his head over and over, like a sick record running on repeat.

_The moment Mycroft saw the back of John’s head in his office, he knew everything was about to come to blows._

_“She has really done her homework, Miss Riley. It’s things that only someone close to Sherlock could know.”_

_Mycroft’s already aching chest plummeted into his stomach as he shut the door and muttered, “ah.”_

_“Have you seen your brother’s address book lately? Two names, yours and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me-”_

_“John,” Mycroft tries to interrupt._

_“So how did it work then, your relationship?  You go out for a coffee now and then, eh? You and Jim. Your own brother and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac?”_

_Mycroft swallowed the painful lump that had formed in his throat. Hearing the phrase “ **You and Jim”**  hurt more than he could have anticipated. He’d convinced himself to only refer to Jim as Moriarty and was able to forget that Moriarty and Jim (Jim, the man he’d fallen in love with, the man he still loved) were the same person._

_“I never intend- I never dreamt-” Mycroft could barely think let alone excuse what a mess he’d created for Sherlock. He barely registered John’s next words until he heard the question “How did you meet him?”_

_What was Mycroft to say; “I met him shortly after he strapped a bomb to you, I was in a relationship with him when Irene Adler manipulated Sherlock into translating a document to ruin the MOD’s planning to fool the terrorist cell, I let him work his way into my personal life and consequently my heart?” None of those would bode well._

_Instead Mycroft replied, “People like him, we know about them. We watch them. But James Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen and in his pocket the ultimate weapon, the key code. A few lines of computer code that can unlock any door….”_

_With a sick stomach Mycroft told John about the interrogation of Moriarty, but he did not mention how he’d found out about the code one night when Jim took a phone call thinking Mycroft was asleep. He didn’t tell John how for days he agonized on what to do with the information that Jim had such a weapon. He didn’t tell john that when the secret service came to take Jim from their flat, Jim looked up from where he kneeled on the floor and smiled, “Come and chat with me in the cells, won’t you Iceman?” He didn’t tell John that he knew he’d made the right choice when he saw nothing but amusement shining from Jim’s eyes._

_And despite knowing that Jim never loved him, Mycroft couldn’t bring himself to tell John that all the things about Sherlock’s youth he fed to Jim while they were swapping stories in custody, were ones Mycroft had already told Jim. They were stories Mycroft had already whispered into Jim’s sweaty shoulder after a night of sex, or stories he had already laughed about with Jim while they ate churros in the park, or stories he had choked out while Jim held him on the couch and ran his fingers through Mycroft’s hair._

_“John,” Mycroft barely had the strength to speak, “I’m sorry, tell him, would you?”_

_Mycroft received a call from Sherlock only moments after John stormed from his office. He did something he and Sherlock agreed to never speak of. When he heard Sherlock’s voice through the phone, Mycroft started to weep. Although the crying lasted less than a few minutes he found himself telling Sherlock every non-sexual detail of his relationship with Jim.  He relayed to Sherlock what had happened in the cells; the interrogations and watching Jim carve his younger brother’s name into the walls repeatedly._

_Sherlock’s baritone laugh reached him at the end of his speech, “God Mycroft, aren’t you the one who always said caring isn’t an advantage and here you were caring for Moriarty the entire time?”_

_“Sherlock, I’m sorry. You have always been the one person I’ve cared for the most and now I’ve put you in this position.”_

_“No Mycroft, Moriarty put me in this position. Moriarty, I hate to say this, may be smarter than both of us. But if John and Mrs. Hudson have taught me anything, caring is an advantage. Friends keep people safe and family is all we have in the end. Mycroft, I will take down his web, not only because he’s done this to me, but because he’s hurt my brother.”_

_Mycroft hadn’t heard such empathy from his brother since they were children and it made the tears want to return, “Sherlock, I have always been proud of you, but I have never felt more proud to be your brother than in this moment.”_

_He could hear Sherlock swallow heavily on the other line, “You’ll take care of John while I’m gone right?”_

_“Gone? Sherlock what are you planning on doing?”_

_And so Mycroft helped his brother plot his own suicide.  He had to hold onto one of the heaviest secrets he’d ever felt; he had to hold onto it for his brother, for Sherlock._

* * *

Mycroft had lost almost a full stone since the fall.  To everyone else it would appear that his brother’s suicide led him to the depression he was in, but Mycroft knew it was the puddle of Jim’s blood sprayed out on the rooftop of Bart’s, and the body that no one could find.  Sherlock had told Mycroft about the snipers so it was possible that the one fixed on John swung round to collect the body.  Mycroft wished he could have seen the body, a final goodbye of sorts, closure.  It had taken him up until the day of Sherlock’s funeral to pull off the ring Jim had given him and slip on his old fake one. He still found himself staring at the other ring for hours, until he finally gave up and wore it on a chain around his neck (under his clothes so no one could see). He and Jim had only ever exchanged  _I love you_  twice in the time they spent together but every time Mycroft was alone, he could hear Jim speak those words.

John and Mycroft ran into each other at Sherlock’s grave, one month after he had jumped from the rooftop. John punched Mycroft in the face before collapsing into the elder Holmes’ chest and sobbing. Mycroft held John while the former swapped between screaming and crying until finally John pulled away, red eyed and snot nosed, and hugged Mycroft.

* * *

“I lost a best friend and you lost a brother and now we’re both lost aren’t we?” John spoke quietly over the tea they were sharing a few days later in Mycroft’s flat.

A grimace reached Mycroft’s mouth before he could stop it, “Yes John, we both lost a very important person that day.  I have many regrets at how things-”

John cut him off with his hand, “Mycroft, I know you’re paying Sherlock’s half of the rent so I can stay at Baker Street and I know you would never have wanted things to happen how they did. Let’s just move on from pointing blame, yeah?”

And so Mycroft and John formed a friendship of sorts; this pleased Sherlock, who felt Mycroft could keep a closer eye on John this way, and gave Mycroft something to focus on other than work and Jim.  Mycroft found himself at Baker Street weekly to spend time with John and Lestrade, getting to know the men in a way he hadn’t before Sherlock jumped. Six months had passed since Sherlock’s jump when John tossed a pair of knit socks at Mycroft. Upon inspection Mycroft could tell they were homemade and definitely not the first pair John had made.

“You knit?” Mycroft laughed lightly.

“Yeah, I’ve been making Mrs. Hudson tea cosies and slippers the last month. It helps, you know, to calm me down when I start missing Sherlock.”

Mycroft stared down at the socks for a few moments before looking up at John, “I doubt I’d find enjoyment from knitting, but perhaps I should get a hobby as well. It’s been rather difficult to sleep with how much I miss him.”

Mrs. Hudson, who had been bringing them up a tray of biscuits, took one critical look at Mycroft, “You, Mycroft Holmes, need to start baking and putting on weight! Skinnier than Sherlock you are. It’s not right for a strapping young man like you to look so breakable.”

And so every week Mycroft’s visit to 221B would be accompanied by whichever desert he had made the weekend before. When he was flattening cookie dough and cutting it into meticulous little umbrella shapes, he almost forgot to think about Jim. As he worked his arm tired whipping up angel food cake, his mind only turned to Jim once or twice.  Soon Mycroft was unable to think of anything as his mind filled with measurements and ingredients. He made pies, scones, brownies, and tarts; each time he discovered a new recipe, he felt excitement that he hadn’t felt since before Jim’s betrayal.

Sherlock found complete elation in Mycroft’s new hobby and liked to comment on his brother’s weight, despite having not seen him in person.  Surprisingly Mycroft had only managed to gain half a stone back since most of his treats were sent off with John, Greg or Anthea. 

There were a few things Mycroft learnt the hard way that he shouldn’t bake. He had made donuts one weekend and the smell of fried bread reminded him of the first time Jim approached him the park.  Mycroft ended up crawling into his bed and just trying to remember how to breathe, only forcing himself out of the stupor when the smoke detector went off as the donuts began to burn and turn black.  Another time he made mint bars and the taste of them seemed to be identical to the taste of Jim’s mouth after he chewed his ever present gum. Mycroft ended up crouched over the sink as the contents of his stomach emptied over and over until he was dry heaving.

Mycroft would never admit that he enjoyed baking in hopes that one day Jim would walk into the kitchen, dip his finger into a bowl of cupcake batter and lick at the finger while giving Mycroft his sassy smirk; or that Jim might saunter through the door and give one of his whole body chuckles at the apron Mycroft wore; or that Jim might come tumbling out of their bedroom, hair messed in every direction, sit at the island and watch with sleepy eyes as Mycroft makes them chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast.

No, Mycroft would stay ignorant to those desires and convince himself that baking kept his mind off of Jim.


	21. In Battle

Sebastian and Jim have had the same argument numerous times since the former had collected his boss from the rooftops of Bart’s Hospital.

“Sherlock Holmes is alive; I’m certain of it,” Sebastian rumbled after he and Jim arrived at the fourth supply house that had been infiltrated and emptied.

Jim shot him a vicious look, “Are you suggesting I was outsmarted by  _him_? There is obviously someone trying to bring us down but it is not a dead man.”

Sebastian shuffled the gun on his back down to the floor, “What about his brother? A revenge thing.”

Jim scoffed, “The Iceman is too cold to even want revenge. Besides, whoever is  _screwing_  with my network is doing legwork.”

Finishing off assembling his rifle, Sebastian situated himself at the window, “You know boss, I’ve lost count of how many assassins you made me take down. Don’t we need 'em?”

“Moran, you should be grateful you’re on this end of the gun, not questioning my methods! I can always find a new sniper, don’t forget that.”

The swoosh of Sebastian’s bullet flying towards Justine De Luca, Italian assassin, is the only reply Jim got from the man. Knowing he and Sebastian must move onto another supply house by the end of the week or they would run out of ammunition and funds, Jim motioned for the man to leave his gun and meet him downstairs to catch a cab. While the sniper was wiping prints off the gun, Jim pulled out his phone and sent one text.

**“De Luca is dead. Last connection to the Italian branch severed. Find Ivan Stepanova for a clear path to the inside.”**

* * *

Sebastian looked up from his phone with anger, “I got word that Clément's been caught by the secret service. Stepanova struck a plea bargain and ratted out the inner circle. That fucker!”

“Clément is the only one that knows our last three strong holds. I’ve trained him well enough; he won’t give those up while still alive.  Find out our insurance on him,” Jim replied bored from the chair he’s sprawled in.

Sebastian loaded the file on Francis Clément, scanning through it before facing Jim once more, “His daughter is at Bridgeport Boarding School and one of the groundskeepers is our man. Clément knows we’ll kill her if he gave anything up.”

“ _Goooood very good,_  see Moran, there’s no need to fuss; we’ve got good insurance on our inside. They’re all so sentimental about their little families. Though I believe Denardo recommended Stepanova.  Go teach him a lesson from us,” getting up from the chair, Jim made his way the kitchen where his phone sat on the counter.

A smirk reached Sebastian’s face and twisted it into a terrifying image, “Now there’s a kill order I’ve wanted for a long while. See ya tomorrow boss!”

Jim gave a half-hearted wave of dismissal as he typed away on his phone.

**“Clément’s under duress. Find the groundskeeper at his daughter’s boarding school and then Clément will talk.”**

* * *

Jim pressed the barrel of the gun into Sebastian’s throat, “It’s been you.  There’s no way anyone knew about Clément’s daughter.”

“Sir, I swear it wan’t me an' you know that too. If Martin's a traitor we gotta axe him! Sir, you built us from not'ing and we can build it again. Martin mayn't be a traitor either; there's one man who coulda figured it out,” Sebastian had been at the end of his boss’ gun enough times to know the man didn’t truly want to kill him if he didn’t have to.

Throwing the gun down with a snarl, Jim fumed, “ _Sherlock Holmes_  is a dead man. You were the one who watched him die; I’m not going to waste our dwindling resources chasing a ghost.”

“Boss, if whoever it is gets ta Martin first, they’ll 'ave us in less than a day.”

“Well then,” Jim cooed, “you better start looking for Mr. Martin, hadn’t you Sebby?”

* * *

Sebastian threw open the door to the warehouse, “Boss you gotta move now! The secret service got Martin and he told ‘em I’m the last defense to the 'ead of the group.  I had a tail on me and didn’ realize until too late.”

The look of rage on Jim’s face caused Sebastian to stop dead in his tracks, “You’re going to tell them that I was dead on the rooftop, you couldn’t save me. Then you’ll tell them you were my heir and let them take you alive. I won’t be able to save you for a while Moran, I’ve got nothing left at my disposal, but I’m trusting you to keep your mouth shut until I can get you. Tell them nothing.”

With those final words, Jim spun on his heel and made his way to the hidden garage. Sebastian removed his gun from its holster and decided he’d take down as many of the fuckers as he could. He inched his way to the shadows and waited for his tracker to expose who they were.  Despite the nagging suspicion he had, Sebastian was not expecting Sherlock Holmes to walk in, trailed by six heavily armed secret service agents.

“Moran,” the detective called out, “We know you’re here. There’s no need for this to get any messier than it has been, tell us who Moriarty’s successor is.”

Sebastian darted from his hiding spot and fired three rapid shots, taking out two of the men on Sherlock’s left. The detective pulled out a gun and started firing it in the direction the shots came from.  Moran had already moved to a new location and from there he took out two more agents.

“Not looking too good Sherlie!” he mocked as he made his way around the shadows of the building, “You only got two more men…  _Oooops!_ Make that one more.”

The distress on Sherlock’s face became evident when a new voice cut through the air, “Mr. Moran, I’m certain you are aware of the requests that were drawn up for Irene Adler. We are more than willing to match those requests if you give us the information we need.”

Sebastian barked out a laugh, “It’s my lucky day. I getta take down bot' of the Holmes’.  If only Jim was still alive, he’d be proud!”

He missed the look of pain flash across Mycroft’s face as he shot the final secret service agent. Sherlock foolishly stood near the edge of the shadows that concealed Sebastian and Mycroft was making his way towards his brother, stepping over the bodies of his agents, “you have other options besides dying Mr. Moran. We would like to help expand those options.”

The next few moments blurred as Sebastian lunged from the darkness and ripped the gun out of Sherlock’s hands. The detective, shocked by the sudden action, teetered off balance. Two quick shots were fired at the same time that Mycroft flung himself in front of his brother’s weary form.

Mycroft felt searing pain in his side as he landed on top of Sherlock. He watched Moran lift his gun to take aim with an evil leer, “Guess what Iceman, I am Moriarty’s replacement and now I’m gonna finish wha' he star-.”

Moran’s words were cut short as a faint Mycroft watched the end of a blade come penetrating through his chest. Mycroft vaguely heard two voices scream his name as darkness over took him; one was Sherlock’s and the other was  _Jim’s._   He smiled weakly wondering if there was life after this, and if Jim would be there to greet him. 


	22. Fighting

Mycroft woke up in his own bed with an excruciating pain in his left side. He couldn’t examine the injury as it was bandaged up, but he suspected from his hazy memories that it was a clear through bullet wound. He then noticed Anthea sitting beside him, thumbs flying over the keyboard of her phone.

“Anthea,” his voice was rough, “could I bother you for water?”

Her eyes flew up and she beamed at him while passing him a cup, “Sebastian Moran is dead and your brother is ready to no longer be.”

A rush of memories came flooding to Mycroft: Sherlock almost getting shot, Mycroft pushing him out of the way, Sebastian Moran grabbing at the pointed tip of the sword that was stabbed through the back his chest, the huge eyes and the look of astonishment on his face before his body fell forward. Mycroft couldn’t remember much more.

“Please tell me it wasn’t you or John who stabbed Mr. Moran,” Mycroft wouldn’t put it past either of them to do something so dangerous, “where’s Sherlock?”

“He’s fine sir. We’ve a guest in the living room that he’s keeping an eye on,” Anthea replied before opening a bottle sitting on the nightstand and passing Mycroft two white pills, “pain killers before we go and see him.”

Mycroft took the pills before hobbling to the loo to clean himself up as best he could without a shower. He felt vulnerable going to see an unnamed guest in only a dressing gown, but he couldn’t fathom the thought of forcing his body into a suit. He also suspected the guest was either John or Greg which helped him feel more at ease. Anthea looped her arm around him as they slowly made their way to the living area.

Sherlock sat perched upon the loveseat and flailed when he saw his brother and Anthea enter, “He’s just putting on tea; I’ll go get him.”

Anthea helped Mycroft to stand in front of his reading chair before she sat in the spot previously occupied by Sherlock. Before Mycroft could sit down, Sherlock returned to the room followed by Jim Moriarty.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock started, “the only reason I’m allowing him to even be near you is because he did save our lives, and he’d been helping me destroy his own network. Though I didn’t know it was him at the time.”

Jim looked exactly as he had the night he and Mycroft danced in the living room. His hair was still raven black and his even darker eyes were still pits that Mycroft wanted to get lost in. However, the politician said nothing and stared at the man in disbelief.

It was Sherlock who broke the silence, “Go on, say what you have to say or we’ll kick you out.”

With a rush of words Jim started to speak, “James Moriarty was miserable and lonely. He was bored with being alive but before he could die, he had to kill his counterpart. Sherlock and James literally made each other; James’ crime making Sherlock become a detective and Sherlock’s ability to suspect him making James become a criminal. Their lives were intertwined from the beginning.” Jim’s face was open, vulnerable and filled with anxiety as he tried to convey what he meant to Mycroft, “With  _all_  his power, James was still bored and desolate. It wasn’t James Moriarty with his spider web and strings that fell in love with you Mycroft, it was the new person you created out of the shell James Moriarty had become. I needed the web torn down and the only person clever enough to do so was Sherlock. That’s why we had to die at the rooftop that day, so Sherlock would be motivated enough to destroy James Moriarty along with the miserable life he created. I love you Mycroft. I spent years looking for  _anything_  to entertain James Moriarty. Sherlock came close but in the end it was you who made it so I didn’t need to be entertained. When I was under stimulated, with nothing to occupy my mind I didn’t feel bored, I felt content. You did that Mycroft, you made me feel satisfied with my existence.”

Sherlock put a hand on his still mute brother’s shoulder and guided the frozen man to sit, “if you love him, why would you break his heart?”

“I had to, to protect him, just like you and John. You saw how twisted the network was. Even with me sending you hints and clues, it took you over a year to untangle it all. If I had disappeared and stopped working, my successor would have hunted me down and killed everyone I loved before killing me.”

That answer seemed to appease Sherlock who pulled his dressing gown tight before flopping onto the sofa. Mycroft; however, remained stone still in his reading chair. Jim crouched before him and took his hands up, “Please Mycroft. Let me back into your life, even as a friend. I need you.”

Anthea shot Sherlock a worried look as Mycroft continued to gaze unfocused ahead. The look the younger Holmes returned did not put her at ease. It felt as if they were in a mine field; they all wanting Mycroft to do something but none of them were sure what it was they wanted him to do.

Jim pulled the hands he was holding to his mouth and kissed them as he spoke, “Don’t you see, James Moriarty never existed and Richard Brook is dead. I can be with you as anyone you want me to be.”

The hands were wrenched from Jim’s grip as Mycroft shot to his feet and yelled, “What I want you to be is still dead!”

“You don’t mean that,” Jim whispered.

Mycroft closed his eyes and remembered how it felt he had when he thought Jim betrayed him and led Sherlock to his death, how it felt to sleep in an empty bed each night longing for Jim to be with him, the sensation of disappointment and the agony of deceit had eaten away at Mycroft every day since he’d heard that phone call. More importantly he remembered how he felt knowing he would never hear Jim laugh again, never hold him close again and never even see him again.

He felt his lashes grow wet, “No. I don’t mean it at all.”

Jim went to bring Mycroft into a hug when the taller man maneuvered away, “We were engaged Jim. You asked me to spend forever with you and didn’t even give me a day to be happy about it. Instead I spent close to two years wondering why you bothered when I had already given you everything. How am I supposed to forgive you?”

“I’ll spend every day of the rest of our lives making it up to you,” Jim swore.

“Good. You can start by leaving,” Mycroft drew himself to his full height and wiped at his eyes, “I’m glad you are not dead but that is not the case for our relationship; that is very much so dead. Good day.”

Glancing at Anthea and Sherlock, Jim realized they would not persuade Mycroft to change him mind, “Anything you want, I’ll do it. But there’s a park, I’m sure you know which one, I’ll be there every day for an hour after lunch; if you ever wanted to see me again….”

Jim’s voice trailed off and he gave one last look of longing to Mycroft before leaving. The moment the door shut behind Jim, Mycroft let out a broke sigh before turning to his brother, “Let’s see about bringing you back from the dead, brother mine.”


	23. Making Up

“You are aware that you can’t have him arrested,” Sherlock sneers at Mycroft from where he stands by the window, “There’s no way to  _prove_ he is, or was, Moriarty.”

John shoots Sherlock a look, the one that means not appropriate, but the detective continues regardless, “you’ve already let yourself become boooring and sentimental, you might as well save us all from your pining and forgive him”

“C’mon Sherlock,” Greg whines from the couch, “If you can’t stop being a wanker, you’re not going to be allowed here when we have our tea.”

“You can’t stop me from being here, or has your simple mind forgotten this is my flat too, Lestrade.”

Mrs. Hudson pipes up from the doorway, “Actually Sherlock, it’s your brother who’s been paying me rent. Makes it his flat until you pay next month’s rent.”

Mycroft, who has been silent since Jim was brought up, stands and grabs his umbrella “thank-you for the tea, but I do believe I have matters to attend to in the office. Good day and I shall see you next week.”

Sherlock’s scoff follows Mycroft as he leaves.  The elder brother makes his way out the door, only twenty minutes before twelve, and a black car pulls up to the curb at the same moment Mycroft closes the door to 221B Baker Street.  Without any instruction from Mycroft, the driver makes his way to the same location Mycroft has spent every noon hour visiting. Anthea plucks away at the keys of her blackberry and ignores her boss, she had long given up hope that he would be able to function from noon to one; she’d stopped scheduling meetings during said time after Mycroft refused to go to them. The car comes to idle a block away from a park and Mycroft stares out the window to watch Jim step out of a cab and walk through the park entry.  His fingers close around the handle to the car multiple times throughout the hour but he never once makes an effort to open the door.  The only noise heard for the entire time is the clicks of Anthea’s phone and the short, harsh breathes Mycroft takes. Finally, Mycroft observes Jim leave the park, dejection visible in his features. Only once the cab Jim flags down is out of sight does the politician signal for the driver to head to the office.

* * *

“Mycroft my dearest, it’s been three weeks, surely you’re ready to move on,” Mummy is at her oldest son’s flat for tea, as he repudiates any task that would have him leave London.

“I’m  _trying_  Mummy,” Mycroft sips at his tea and glances as the clock; he still has a few minutes.

She gives him a critical look, “You have been trying to move on from Jim, unsuccessfully, for over two years. Perhaps you should try forgiving him and moving on from sulking.”   

“You sound like Sherlock. Speaking of my younger brother, I will be more than pleased to drop you off at his on my way to the office.  I’ve many things to do there.”

Mycroft collects their tea and ushers his mother out the door. Mummy doesn’t comment that they both know he won’t be arriving at the office until after one, even though it was just shy of eleven at the moment.  

* * *

Anthea’s eyes dart up at the unexpected noise as Mycroft pulls on the door handle. The door pops open slightly and everyone in the vehicle holds their breath. A minute passes with the door only slightly open before Mycroft pulls it shut with a quick slam. His nostrils flare slightly as he sucks in a deep breath from his nose.  After a month of waiting a block from the park, this was closets he’d ever gotten to breaking. His assistant looks out the window to see Jim holding two churros and pacing in front of the park’s entrance. Mycroft seems to gather his wits and pulls his hand from where it never left the door; Anthea looks back down and resumes her typing.

* * *

John places a hand over his stomach and lets out a satisfied noise, “I never liked red velvet until I had one of your cupcakes Mycroft. You really outdid yourself today!”

Greg, who was licking cream cheese frosting off his fingers, shot the politician thumbs up and resumed devouring the treat in front of him. Even Sherlock had tentatively grabbed one and ate half of it before giving the rest to John.

“I can see why your diet is failing when you create such food,” that is the closest thing to a compliment Mycroft can expect from his brother, “but it’s near twelve, brother. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

With a glance at his pocket watch, Mycroft rises to his feet, “Too true. Once again I had a pleasant time, thank-you for your hospitality, John.”

The army doctor stands up as well and picks up the plate holding one remaining cupcake, “Don’t suppose I can convince you to take the last one. Lord knows my waistline doesn’t need it.”

Luckily Sherlock is picking a fight with Greg about Anderson so he misses the thoughtful look that flashes across his brother’s face, “I suppose I can take it this once.”

Equipped with the cupcake, placed in a small box courtesy of Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft leaves Baker Street and authorizes the car to take him to the park. When there is only ten minutes until Jim will flag down a taxi and leave, Mycroft hands his assistant the box.

“Sir, I can’t have this. I’ve already eaten two today!” she states, confusion apparent in her voice.

The look of uncertainty on Mycroft’s face makes his true desires apparent. With a small nod, she exits the vehicle and makes her way to the spot Jim Moriarty will walk through to leave. Balancing the box and typing away at her phone, Anthea manages to make herself unnoticeable while she stands at the opening to the park.  Soon enough Jim stalks past her, disappointment evident with every step.

“Sir,” she calls loudly enough for him to turn on the spot. Wordlessly she hands him the box before flagging down her own cab and letting it drive her to the office. Mycroft stares as Jim opens the box with a look of astonishment on his face. The shorter man’s mouth beams at what he finds, before he drags a finger through the icing and sucks on it. Mycroft’s driver is smart enough not to mention the way his boss starts to squirm in his seat.

* * *

For the next week Anthea hands Jim something whenever he goes to leave; the gifts ranged from Mycroft’s homemade treats to a new pair of cufflinks.  Each time Jim positively glows with glee and there is a spring to his step as he walks away. This afternoon Mycroft is holding a box with cookies, cut into the shapes of umbrellas and crowns.  While they pull up and wait for Jim to arrive, rain begins to pour heavily around them. The former criminal jumps out of the cab and to Mycroft’s dismay, he is not even wearing a coat to shield him from the downpour.

“Really,” he mutters more to himself than the woman sitting beside him, “He’ll catch his death dressed like that.”

After a few minutes of sitting quietly, Mycroft grabs his umbrella, still holding the box, and climbs out of the car. His steps are confident and assured as he rushes towards the park.  Jim is facing away from him, attempting to avoid the rain under the canopy of a tree.  Mycroft admires the way Jim’s shirt sticks to his frame before he reaches the man and holds his umbrella over them both.

“These unexpected rains are why I never venture far without an umbrella,” Mycroft speaks while looking down at the man beside him.

“Yeeees, I hear ice fares  _rather_  ill against rain,” A flash of white has the man looking at the most genuine smile he’s ever seen Jim wear, “you’ve become a rather good cook while I was away.”

Mycroft can’t help but return the smile, “Unfortunately my abilities are for baking and not cooking; I’m still quite a mess when it comes to making dinner.”

With a look of uncertainty, Jim places his hand over Mycroft’s on the handle of the umbrella, “I’ve been told I’m not too shabby at dinners.”

Spreading his fingers so that Jim’s can interlock between them, Mycroft gives a hum, “Perhaps we can go for tea together and we can see if the days progress from there.”

“Iceman, for you, I have as many days as you like.”


End file.
